


Fracture In Reverse

by NovemberOcean (Twilighthawke)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Mutual Pining, Non-explicit bath scene, Sharing a Bed, Very fluffy, a little violent?, lots of dream sequences, nothing too graphic, there are a few scenes with blood, this is very pg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-03-15 08:34:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 25,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13609581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twilighthawke/pseuds/NovemberOcean
Summary: The Red Templars are the worst monsters in human skin. Completely irredeemable... right?The story of a Scout, a recovering Templar, and the girl that needed to be found.





	1. Brown Eyes

Red. All he can see is the red. It's in his heart and on his hands and he can't escape it. It's more than a color to him. It's a smell at this point, or even a taste. And he is drowning in it. Awash in a tide of red. It consumes him until he's so saturated that he's not sure where he ends, and the red begins.

He can't remember his name, or the taste of food, or any sound that wasn't the song of the red. It was as loud as it was silent, pervasive in its semblance. The red is all that ever was, and will ever be.

Then, above it all one thought rises, one notion.

"Do it for her."

A monotonous chant that pulls him from the red, wraps itself around him, and pulls him from the red tide. The red tide doesn’t want to let him go and it pulls at him. It pulled at his mind and body, and for a moment, Peter felt as though he would come apart.

"Do it for her."

Peter looked around, aware of himself for the first time in...

Other red templars sat around the campfire. Blank eyes in sunken faces, going about the mundane chores of maintaining a camp.

Peter looked at his hands. They were encased in gauntlets. He clenched his fists and heard the metal and leather creak but felt nothing.

He looked at the symbol of the templars on his chest. Chunks of red lyrium protruded from it in random intervals. He knew without feeling, that those shards were growing out of _him_ , out of his blood and bones.

Something in him had awakened. And that something was frightened of what he had become.

He stumbled to his feet, two or three of his fellow templars glancing up at him then going back to what they were doing. Peter stumbled away from the fire blindly. He wasn't thinking about where he was going, or what he was leaving. He could feel his heart pounding, pumping more of the poison his body was now producing, through his veins.

Someone behind him yelled but Peter didn't stop. He didn't look back, he just kept going, his legs wobbling.

More shouts followed him, but they only served to push him faster, his legs growing stronger with each step. Then they were chasing him. He could feel the red in them and knew that there were three of them.

His lungs were protesting, and his legs were shaking. He couldn't run forever. But the idea of stopping frightened him more than the idea of running himself to death.

He had reached a clump of trees that turned out to be woods. Something in him remembered woods. A memory of running through woods in the daylight. Something was chasing him then too, but he had wanted whatever was behind him to catch him then. He did not want the men behind him to catch up with him now.

His legs finally collapsed under him and Peter fell, hard. Instead of getting up, he rolled under a thicket. He lay there, trying to control his ragged breathing, for an indeterminable amount of time before the red templars ran past his hiding place. He continued to lie there long after they passed.

He waited until they came trudging back the way they had come, apparently giving up. He listened to their passing. Still he waited. Only after he could no longer feel their red did he get up, and keep running away from where he came.

And he didn't stop running. The sun rose and fell, and then rose and fell again. When the moon rose the third time, Peter fell down. And he couldn't get up again. Everything in him told him he was dying, his lungs heaving, his heart pounding; pushing the poison through his veins. At least now he wasn't dying from the red. He was no longer consumed body and soul. As his eyes closed, Peter thought that maybe that was enough.

But then Peter dreamed. Long, dark hair. Barley in a field. His name, being called over, and over again. She was looking for him, he had to find her.

He woke with the sun beating down on him. Raising his head slightly, he saw the arrow.

 

\--

 

Scout Lace Harding was having a lovely morning. It was warm for the Hinterlands. Which wasn't saying much, but after three months of being stationed out there, it was something.

Then the missive had come. The Inquisitor was making her way to her outpost. Inquisitor Trevelyan was a good natured, down to earth sort. Lace was always the one who briefed her when she arrived, and she liked their encounters. So she looked forward to Erica's impending visit.

She was on her way to the stream to fill everyone's canteens when she had come across the body.

A red templar lay there, unmoving at her feet. He was almost under her feet, she had nearly stepped on him. He was huge, she had no idea how she had missed him.

She also had no idea how he had come to be there. A single red templar, not a hundred yards from the outpost? That was weird. Red Templars never traveled alone, and they were close enough to the camp that they would have heard a fight.

Ever the expert tracker, she inspected the scene. No signs of a fight, just a trail of flattened vegetation where he had apparently come from. He appeared to have just charged through the clearing before falling over. She moved to the body to check for an arrow or similar mortal wound.

And then the body moved.

Lace leapt backwards about five feet and notched an arrow. She was about to let it fly when he raised his head to look at her.

Lace was an archer and a scout. As a general rule, she didn't get close enough to her quarry to look them in the eyes. But the thing about red templars that creeped her out the most, was that all of them had glowing red eyes. Every single one, from the hunters with the red spike hands, to the big fellas with the shards coming from their teeth. This templar did not.

He blinked at her with large brown eyes that, while they looked bleary with exhaustion, were as clear as her own. She lowered her bow to inspect him, but quickly brought it back up when he moved.

He had started to slide away from her, but stopped when the arrow was pointed at him again. He slumped back into the grass, and made no aggressive move towards her. Lace frowned in confusion. He was acting more like a wounded Mabari than a vicious red templar. She could see the red crystals growing out of him though, so he was definitely the latter.

"Who are you?" Lace asked eventually, still never lowering her bow.

The templar didn't answer her, he just kept staring at her with his utterly human eyes. Said eyes darted to the canteens that had fallen to the ground when she had pulled her bow out. Impulsively, she kicked one over to him, it still sloshed with a bit of water.

He didn't move, he kept his eyes trained on her, and the arrow in her hand. After a moment, she lowered her bow. Still no movement. Lace sighed, cursing her own curiosity, and put away the arrow.

Immediately, the templar's hand shot out and snatched the canteen from the ground and backed away from her rapidly until his back hit a tree. The sudden movement startled her, but she refrained from notching another arrow.

He was having trouble with the lid on the canteen. Now that he was sitting up, Lace got a better look at him. He was in full templar armor, complete with shards of red Lyrium protruding from his chest. Definitely a red templar, so lyrium addled that he probably didn't even know who he was...

Lace thought about his brown eyes. Then again maybe he did...

She darted away to the stream. Hurriedly, she filled one of the remaining canteens and returned to where she had left the templar. He was still there. He had gotten the lid off the canteen and was licking whatever moisture he could from it.

Not daring to get too close to him, she crouched down, and rolled the now full canteen to him. He started when it hit his foot, but quickly snatched it up and scrabbled at the lid until it too was open. He guzzled it down, but then threw it back up again. It was all water, so Lace knew he hadn't had anything to eat or drink in a long time.

"Slowly," Lace told him softly, still not daring to get any closer. "You won't be able to hold much."

The templar eyed her warily, but did as she instructed. He drank the remainder of the canteen and after a second’s hesitation, rolled it back to her. She thought he was asking for more, until he started crawling away from her.

"Wait!" Lace held out her hand to him and he glanced back at her before scrambling into the undergrowth. Lace cursed under her breath and pursued him through the forest. He was fast, but she was an excellent tracker, and he was too big to be subtle.

His trail led to a thick patch of thorn bushes that he had apparently crawled under. She could hear him breathing hard. He had more armor than she did, she couldn't follow him.

Lace made a frustrated noise. She had so many questions she needed answers to. She wanted to know why he was out here, alone. Why he hadn't attacked her, and why he had such human eyes. In a sign of good faith, she left one of the canteens outside of the thicket. She hoped he would stay there until she could come back.

Suddenly, she remembered the inquisitor's impending arrival and smiled. Maybe Erica could help.


	2. The Inquisitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisitor arrives and we learn a name.

He did stay there. When she returned a few hours later, she could still hear his breathing and the canteen was nowhere in sight. She left a bit of cooked rabbit where she had left the canteen and retreated as far as she could and still see his hiding place.

Half an hour or so later, he emerged and, after sniffing it cautiously, wolfed down the morsel with gusto. Before retreating under the bush again.

He reminded her of the feral cat she had once had. She had found it in the woods out behind her house. She left milk for it for weeks. She moved the milk closer and closer to the house every day until it was drinking the milk from her doorstep. Eventually, the cat just walked right into the house as if it had always lived there.

He was quite a bit bigger than that cat had been. And the cat hadn't had toxic crystals protruding from its body. Still, he wasn't a bloodthirsty beast, and that puzzled her.

Three days after she found him, the inquisitor and her friends arrived.

"Scout Harding!" Erica exclaimed, jovially. "It's good to see you again."

"Hello, Inquisitor," Lace smiled back.

"Anything to report?" Cassandra Pentaghast asked, right to business.

Lace opened her mouth to tell them about the templar, and then changed her mind. Cassandra was a deadly warrior, but that didn't make her exceptionally forgiving. Better to get the Inquisitor alone.

"Nothing but bears from here," she said instead. Varric Tethras laughed.

"No shit, kid. We fought three on the way over here." He gestured over his shoulder the way they had come. Cassandra rolled her eyes.

"Two," she corrected.

"But it’s always three in the story," Varric countered.

"What story?" Cassandra asked, exasperated.

While they argued about children's tales, drawing the rest of the camp around them, Lace sidled up to the inquisitor who was grinning fondly at her friends.

"May I have a word?" Lace asked quietly. "In private?" She added, glancing at the squabble.

Erica glanced curiously down at her, but nodded and turned to walk off with her.

"What's going on?" Erica asked once they were a proper distance from camp. She seemed curious, but content to let Lace take her time in revealing whatever it was to her.

"I have something to show you," Lace said. "And I don't want you to do anything until you've seen it, and I've explained everything."

Erica looked more and more intrigued the longer Lace talked.

"Is it dangerous?" Erica asked seriously. "You seem to think I'll attack it." Damn, she was perceptive.

"Yes, but I want you to hold off."

Erica looked at her a long time. Lace looked back and tried to convey as much honesty as possible. Suddenly, Erica grinned.

"Lead on," she gestured to Lace to lead the way.

They made their way to the thorn bushes. Both women could hear the breathing as they approached. Erica looked suspicious, but she refrained from reaching for her daggers as she followed Lace to the mouth of the thicket.

Lace left another bit of rabbit, and a full canteen and pulled Erica a distance back to watch. They sat very still for a very long time before he came out. Lace was starting to think he wouldn't when first his hand, then his head, emerged. Erica took in a sharp inhale of breath, but otherwise didn't move until the templar had eaten the food and retreated with the canteen.

 "Andraste alive," Erica swore very quietly. "What in the Maker's name was that?"

"I'm not sure," Lace admitted. "Did you see his eyes?" She asked. Erica nodded.

"I did," she hadn't taken her eyes off of the bushes. "I've never seen anything like that."

"Me neither."

Erica cursed again but then looked at Lace with a smile in her eyes.

"You are certainly full of surprises, Harding." She grinned. "How did you find him?"

Lace told her everything. From the moment she stumbled upon him, to the point where she had decided she needed the Inquisitor. Erica nodded through the whole explanation, and when she was done, she asked;

"What do you want me to do about him?"

Lace blinked. She hadn't expected that question. Erica was the Inquisitor, shouldn't that be her decision?

"You're asking me?" She asked.

"You found him," Erica shrugged. "Obviously you don't want me to kill him, so what do you want to do with him?"

"I was going to ask you that!" Lace exclaimed. Erica laughed.

"Just because I've got the mark, doesn't mean I know what I'm doing." She waved the aforementioned mark. "Do you want to take him back to Skyhold?"

"Well," she glanced at the bushes. "Right now, he won't even come out of the bushes."

"Well then," Erica stood and turned to go. "That's your first step then innit?" She said over her shoulder as she made her way back to camp. Lace ran to catch up.

"Wait what?"

"We can't exactly throw him in a cage and haul his ass to Skyhold," Erica said, and then hesitated. "Well, we could. But I don't think it'll help in the long run."

"But, why me?" Lace persisted.

"Why not you?" Erica asked, raising one eyebrow. "I can think of no scout I trust more."

Lace was immune to flattery though and narrowed her eyes at the Inquisitor. She liked her, but that didn't mean she didn't have ulterior motives.

"Fine," was all she said.

"I'm not going to mention it to anyone..." Erica promised. "Well, except Leliana; but she'll know within the hour, even if I don't tell her."

Lace nodded, the Nightengale scared her sometimes.

"Thank you, Harding," Erica said, sincerely. "I'm glad you didn't kill him, and I'm even more glad you told me about him." She put a hand on Lace's smaller shoulder.

"It was stupid," she muttered.

"No, fighting four bears is stupid," Erica said, flippantly as they entered the outskirts of camp and heard her companions still arguing. "Sparing somebody's life is brave."

Lace hoped she was right.

\--

She kept coming back. With little bits of food that tasted like ash but Peter ate anyway. She always retreated until she thought he couldn't see her to watch him eat. One day, she stayed just a little bit closer than usual.

Cautiously, Peter emerged to eat what she brought. He could see her, and he kept low to the ground, remembering the bow. She didn't move, just blinked slowly at him whenever he glanced her way. When he was finished, he retreated into his hiding place and she went away.

This lasted a few days. Each day, she would move just a little bit closer than the last day. Peter didn't know what to make of that. He didn't know what to think of her in general. He could see the symbol on her armor. He remembered very little, but he knew the eye meant that they were the enemy. But everyday she would be back with food.

Eventually she sat a few yards from him. So intent on watching him that she didn't see the man approaching her when Peter did. Dumbly, he watched the man approach. It was when the man pulled two daggers from a sheathe that Peter's heart started to race. Red filled his vision, red like the lyrium protruding from his chest. Red flowed through his veins, burning the poison there and giving him strength.

The man with the daggers lunged for the unprotected woman, but Peter was faster. With a roar he was on the man, knocking the daggers from the mans hands, surprising a cry from him. Both of them hit the ground.

Using both his clenched fists Peter smashed the man's head. Again and again he brought down his fists. There was more red then, but this red was less loud. It coated his hands and splattered his face.

In his battle frenzy, Peter didn't see the other men until they hit the ground, two arrows sticking out of their eye sockets. Peter looked at the woman. She was looking at him with fear in her eyes and she had another arrow notched.

Something in him hurt to see her expression and he cowered before her on his hands and knees. She was so small, and she had been so kind. He didn't want her to be afraid of him. Something in him told him that he never wanted to be feared. Especially not...

Miraculously, she put away her arrow. Peter moved towards her half a foot. She leaned away from him and he stopped. He stayed low to the ground as to be less threatening. He blinked slowly as she had done. Her face registered surprise and Peter did it again.

She put away her arrow. And after a moment, slung her bow on her back. Slowly, she reached her hand out to him. Peter shied away, the red was too dangerous. Both the red on his hands, and the red in is body. She persisted until she laid one hand on his head. She really was very small, her hand would have been dwarfed by his own if he had reached up to grasp her hand in his. He did not. He was still covered in someone else's red.

"My name is Lace Harding," the small woman said in soft tones.

"L...ace," Peter managed through a head and a throat full of red. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. With monumental effort, Peter continued. Pointing to the templar symbol on his chest. "P... Peter."

"Nice to meet you, Peter," she said with a small smile. Peter tried to smile back, but there was red in his face, so it was a lopsided effort. Lace didn't seem to notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dont know what im doing


	3. "He" Not "It"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introduce Peter to the Inquisition camp.

"Maker's left ballsack!" Conrad exclaimed eloquently when Lace lead Peter back to camp. "What in the void is that?!"

Duke, the large, taciturn man that acted as the camp muscle, was already drawing his massive mace. Conrad almost never carried his own short sword, so he was left to dodge behind Duke and point accusingly at her.

"He's okay!" Lace shot out her hands to stave off any attack.

"He's a red templar," Duke growled. "And he's covered in fresh blood."

"I ran into a few lyrium smugglers in the woods," Lace explained hurriedly. Peter hadn't moved. His back muscles were hunched, but Lace suspected that was more of a flight response than a fight response.

"He looks like a mabari that got run over by a cart," Conrad observed and Lace glared at him.

"He's different," Lace said, ignoring Conrad and looking back at Duke. Duke looked unconvinced, but didn't move to attack. "We need to send a letter to the Inquisitor."

"Good idea, _she_ can kill it," Conrad said flippantly. Peter growled and Conrad yelped. Duke moved into a fighting stance.

" _His_ name is Peter," Lace said, hotly to Conrad.

"It-- he spoke to you?" Duke asked, arching one eyebrow. He had started to call Peter an It but had corrected himself midsentence. Lace relaxed a fraction.

Lace nodded. Duke stared at Peter with a mixture of awe and mistrust. Peter stared back, blinking slowly. After an eternity, Duke spoke again.

"We should contact the Inquisitor."

"Where are we gonna keep i--" Peter growled again. "Him. I meant him." Conrad corrected himself hurriedly.

"We'll keep him on the far edge of camp, in one of the spare tents," Lace said. "I'm a dwarf, so I'm the only one who should go near him." Dwarves having a natural resistance to lyrium. Not that it had been truly tested on the red lyrium...

Duke only nodded and moved off. Conrad stayed ten feet back and watched her lead Peter into one of the tents they kept ready for the Inquisitor's arrival.

Peter didn't walk upright, the lyrium growing from him made him bend at an awkward angle. He walked on his feet, favoring his left leg supporting his weight on one of his hands. He lumbered more than he walked, but it made him about eye level with Lace.

"Stay here okay?" Lace said as she lifted the tent flap for Peter to shuffle in.

"O...kay," Peter replied with effort.

"I'll be back later," she promised, letting the tent flap fall.

"O...kay," Peter said to nothing.

\--

"Scout Harding, It's been too long!" Erica exclaimed as she walked into camp the next day.

"It's been two weeks" Lace laughed. 

"Precisely," Erica grinned. "I actually didn't expect to hear from you so soon, you have a touch for lost animals?"

"He's not an animal," Lace protested.

"You knew about him?" Duke interjected, his tone accusing. Lace had forgotten he was standing there. Oops. 

"Er..." Lace said.

"Well, its not like I could haul him back when I found him," Erica said smoothly. Which technically wasn't a lie. It just left out the part where Erica had only found Peter because Lace had shown her.

"He spoke to me," Lace said, unable to hold in the important news. "His name is Peter." Varric let out a low whistle.

"That's... Weird."

"Not necessarily," Solas rebuffed. "We've heard red templars speak before."

"Those were barked orders," Varric said. "And none of those were names. That's _really_ strange." Solas nodded, grudgingly, in agreement.

"Show me," Erica said. Lace led her to the tent at the far end of camp.

Peter raised his head slowly when the tent flap was raised. Erica echoed Varric's earlier low whistle.

"Maker, look at him," she breathed. Peter shied away from her stare. Lace felt sorry for him, he was already hurting, he didn't need to be stared at like a cheap roadside attraction.

"Peter, this is Inquisitor Erica Trevelyan," she said. Erica waved.

"In...inquisi..." Peter tried, his face scrunching in concentration.

"Erica is fine," Erica offered, seeing his obvious stress.

"Fine," Peter parroted. That surprised a laugh out of the Inquisitor.

"So he's not all there," she said. "But he is there, which is new."

"What should we do?" Lace asked, staring at Erica.

"Dunno," she shrugged. "Seems like we should take him back to Skyhold. See what Dagna can make of him." Dagna was the foremost expert in all things magically crafted. She was also the foremost expert in red lyrium.

"Will that help?" Lace asked. Erica looked down at her for the first time since entering the tent. The look on her face was quizzical.

"Scout Harding, you have a heart of gold," was all she said. "Whaddya say big man," Erica asked Peter. "Want to come home with me?"

Peter stared at her with a blank, yet wary expression. She sighed and looked at Lace.

"The Inquisitor is here to help," Lace told Peter. "She will help you, Peter."

"Help..." Peter seized on the word. "Help... Peter?"

"Yes," Erica said immediately. "I'm going to help you, Peter."

"O...kay," Peter nodded.

"You'll come too," Erica said put of the corner of her mouth. Lace whipped her head around to stare at the Inquisitor.

"Me?"

"Yes you, snowdrop," Erica muttered. "He has a connection with you, you'll travel with us and see he settles in." Erica looked at Lace again, her expression softened. "Please."

"P..lease," Peter echoed and both women jumped. Peter was staring at Lace with big, brown eyes.

"Okay," Lace said to Peter as much as to the Inquisitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops i meant to post this earlier today. uh... happy valentines night. have some shitty fanfic.


	4. Skyhold's Archanist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter arrives at Skyhold and meets our favorite archanist

They rode on horses. Peter didn't like horses. Horses didn't like him either. It made for an uncomfortable ride.

The green woman, the Inquisitor, was very loud. She laughed a lot, mostly at the hairy man. The other green person, the bald one with pointy ears, was also loud. But his loudness was inside. Lace was quiet. He liked the quiet.

"He is staring at you," the scary woman, the one with the scar like Lace and the soft eyes, muttered to Lace. She thought he couldn't hear her, so he pretended he couldn't.

"I know," Lace said, equally quiet.

"Does he frighten you?" The scary woman asked and Peter's heart dropped. He didn't want anyone to be afraid of him, least of all Lace.

"No," she replied and Peter relaxed. "He's not harmless, but he's also not violent." Lace huffed a quiet laugh. "If that makes any sense."

The scary woman nodded and rode on. Lace looked back at Peter and smiled. Peter attempted a smile and stopped. His face didn't respond too well to him anymore. He just stared back at her until she turned around again.

He would make sure he lived up to her expectations. If he couldn't be harmless, he would be as non-violent as possible. She would never be afraid of him. And she would help him find Her...

Not for the first time, Peter tried to remember Her. She was important to him, and he was pretty sure he needed to find her. To keep her safe.

Some part of him wasn't sure he wasn't what she needed to be kept safe from. But that part of him was drowned out by the much louder parts of him. Those parts kept seeing flashes of long, dark hair and fields of barley. The inquisitor would help. Lace had said so.

\--

Cassandra was right, he was staring at her. While it was true, Lace wasn't scared of Peter, feeling his eyes on her all of the time was a tiny bit unnerving. It made for a long ride to Skyhold. It didn't help that the horses kept spooking and the group had to stop periodically to calm them down. Peter looked at the ground at those times.

Finally, Skyhold appeared on the horizon. Peter got as nervous and skittish as the horses. Lace rode up beside him.

"It'll be alright," she reassured him.

"It's... Big," Peter stuttered in his way. Every word seemed to be an effort for him.

"It's nice," Lace said, reaching out a hand to pat his shoulder in a reassuring way. Peter startled at the touch and Lace quickly withdrew her hand.

The big portcullis lifted for their passage. A familiar dwarf waited just inside the courtyard. Dagna practically bounced up and down in anticipation. She didn't even wait for them to dismount, she just ran alongside the Inquisitor's horse.

"You're back! Is that him?" She asked excitedly.

"Tell me you haven't been lying in wait for my return," Erica said as the party filed into the stables.

"I wouldn't call it 'lying in wait'..." Dagna said sheepishly.

"Waiting in ambush then?" Varric smirked as he dismounted his pony. But Dagna was already approaching Peter.

"Wow," she said as her keen eyes examined him. "I've never seen anything like it."

Peter backed away nervously, glancing from Lace, to Dagna, and back to Lace.

"You said it could speak?" Dagna asked either Lace or the Inquisitor. It was hard to tell which, because her gaze never left Peter. Lace decided that was enough of that. He was a person, not a device Dagna could take apart. Lace stepped in-between the slowly descending Dagna and the cowering Peter.

"Yes, he speaks," Lace said, emphasising the proper noun. "He is also nervous in open areas surrounded by people." Lace gestured at the stables and the full courtyard beyond. Dagna seemed to have a moment of clarity, and had the good graces to look embarrassed.

"We should take him down to the undercroft," Dagna said, averting her gaze.

They took a back way down to the forge, the way that wouldn't parade Peter through the main hall. Peter was equal parts curious and wary. He hunched his shoulders but craned his neck around to get a good look at everything they passed.

As they went, Dagna babbled about the various things she would like to do to study Peter. It was equally very technical, and very plebian. The first step was a physical examination.

While Peter was examining the waterfall, Dagna arranged her tools. They all looked very pointy to Lace. She knew that Dagna would never intentionally harm anyone. But something about her detached excitement worried Lace.

"Scout Harding and I would like to stick around," Erica said suddenly. "Initially anyway."

"Sure, I don't see why not," Dagna beamed.

So Peter was sat down on a barrel and the ladies tried to explain what they wanted to do. With varying degrees of success.

"Help Peter," Peter eventually nodded at Dagna who shrugged and took that as a sign to start.

Peter didn't flinch at the various implements Dagna produced, but Lace sure did. Through it all, Peter stared at her. She tried to reassure him wordlessly, but it was hard when she herself wasn't reassured by Dagna's actions.

Erica didn't seem too bothered by the whole affair. Lace would go so far as to say she appeared disinterested. It occurred to her that Erica might had offered to stay so that Lace could. She wondered at the implications of that.

It was all very normal, until Dagna held up a glass vial of something and Peter reacted by hitting it out of her hand and falling over backwards off the barrel in an attempt to get away from her. Lace followed him while Erica moved to shield Dagna from any further attacks.

Peter didn't seem too interested in attacking anything. He seemed pretty interested in hiding from whatever was in that vial though. He backed under a desk that only partially obscured his hulking form. As Lace approached him, hands outstretched, she called over her shoulder.

"What was that?!"

"Blood?" Dagna's shaky voice called from behind the Inquisitor. "My blood, I was going to see--" she went on but all of Lace's attention was on Peter.

His large brown eyes were wide with fright, the pupils blown so that the whole eye looked black. Covering his mouth with both hands as he shook under the desk. He seemed to be humming too, but Lace realized he was speaking behind his hands.

"Peter," Lace said softly. Immediately, Peter's eyes zeroed in on her. "It's alright Peter."

"N-no," Peter took his hands away from his mouth to cover his ears. "N-no m-more poison."

"Poison?" Erica echoed. She had put away her daggers.

"Did he think the vial was red lyrium?" Dagna suggested.

"Peter, we won't give you any more poison," Lace told him.

"D'snt m-matter," Peter stuttered, rubbing his face. "Poison is me now." He pointed to the templar symbol on his chest.

"Your body makes the red lyrium," Lace realized out loud and Dagna gasped. "That's the crystals coming out of you?"

Peter nodded.

"Well, that's going to be hard to work around," Dagna said in an irreverent tone. Lace whipped her head around to cast a baneful glare at her. Again, Dagna had the good graces to look embarrassed.

"Do you want it gone?" Lace asked, looking back at Peter. Peter nodded. "We will help you, Peter."

Erica made a strangled noise which Lace ignored. She reached out a hand towards Peter, stopping about a foot from him. Slowly, Peter extended his own hand to take hers.

His hand dwarfed her own, which wasn't surprising, she was a dwarf. What was surprising was the gentleness in his rough hands. They were hands used for fighting, but they were also soft in a strange way. Lace smiled her first real smile of the day.

\--

"Way to make promises my ass has to keep," Erica said. She was fixing a drink for all three of them in her rooms.

"Technically, my ass has to keep them," Dagna piped up.

"Hush, I'm bitching," Erica replied. Her words were harsh, but her tone was amused.

Peter was set up in a closet near the forge. It was the best they could do given the circumstances. He was pretty toxic, and the only other option was the dungeon. Peter hadn't seemed to mind when they had left him there an hour ago. Lace had sort of minded when Dagna set the four shiny, new deadbolts into place.

Now, they were sitting comfortably in the Inquisitor's room. Well, Dagna was sitting comfortably on the Inquisitor's bed. Lace was standing awkwardly by the stairs as the Inquisitor paced.

"Can you do it?" Erica asked Dagna eventually.

"I don't know," Dagna said. "But I sure would like to find out," she grinned.

"What if it kills him?" Lace glared at the madly grinning women. The grin fell away.

"I'll try not to do that," Dagna insisted.

"And you'll be there to make sure she doesn't," Erica told Lace in that same matter-of-fact tone she had used when she told her that she was coming back to Skyhold with her.

"Me?" Lace sputtered.

"Since you have such a vested interest in the subject," Erica said in a suspiciously neutral voice, turning with three glasses of dubious nature in her hands.

Lace was about to protest, for the principle of the thing at least. But she really did want to stick around to make sure Peter was okay. He seemed to trust her, and she was becoming a little attached if she was being honest with herself. Which wasn't good, he wasn't a wounded animal, he was a man. A red templar.

She pushed her doubts aside.

"Fine."

"Excellent," Erica grinned, passing a glass to Lace and Dagna a glass. "To curing a red templar."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey heres a new one


	5. Archanist Log

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dagna's experiment log

Archanist Dagna, project log; R. Day2

The subject shows the intellectual awareness of a small child. Without the childlike behavior. Speech seems to be difficult for him. This could be either a side effect of the red lyrium on his mind, or it could mean he has red lyrium in his mouth or throat. Will investigate.

 

Archanist Dagna, project log; R. Day3

Subject has shards of lyrium growing from his third and fourth ribs on the right side, three from his sternum, several vertebra, and I think his tonsils too. The shards in the vertebra are located in his lower back, making it near impossible for the subject to stand up straight. He stabilizes himself on his knuckles when he walks. The red lyrium coming out of his jaw protrudes out of his cheek. I don't think its what impairs his speech.

L was very helpful in getting the subject to cooperate with the tests. She really knows how to talk to him.

 

Archanist Dagna, project log; R. Day5

The shard of lyrium I extracted from the subject (totally on purpose and in no way because he bumped into a table and knocked a piece off) is inert. But the place it originated has begun to form a new crystal. It may be harder to cure red templars than just snapping off all the spikes.

L suggested regular lyrium. Which is of course ridiculous.

 

Archanist Dagna, project log; R. Day20

I'm going to use regular lyrium to supplant the red the subject's system is producing. It can't hurt, and I'm running out of ideas. The subject still shows no cognitive improvement.

 

Archanist Dagna, project log; R. Day22

Okay, in addition to introducing regular lyrium into his system, I am also going to try and surgically remove the shards of red lyrium. They appear to take any new lyrium introduced and corrupt it. L doesn't like that plan. The subject isn't coherent enough to make the call, but he seemed amenable to the idea.

 

Archanist Dagna, project log; R. Day24

I've invented an entirely new kind of magical science. It'd be awesome if it wasn’t so lonely.

 

Archanist Dagna, project log; R. Day30

Removed shards in lower back. Administered both a local and a general anesthetic, though the subject didn't seem to register either. I don't think he feels pain like a normal person. Corypheus must really be loving that in his army. Chest shards tomorrow.

 

Archanist Dagna, project log; R. Day37

Exciting breakthrough! While extracting shards from subject's chest, subject began to display signs of discomfort. I had to give him a sedative just to complete the procedure! This is amazing, I never thought to see such progress so quickly!

 

Archanist Dagna, project log; R. Day42

Red lyrium in subject's back, torso and face have begun to regrow. The only difference is that now he can feel the pain. L is distraught and I don't blame her.

 

Archanist Dagna, project log; R. Day50

I have to keep removing the regrowing shards or the extra lyrium in his blood might kill him. He bleeds when they regrow. I can tell that it hurts even if he can't. He bleeds when I remove them too.

 

Archanist Dagna, project log; R. Day57

I don’t have any reference for what I'm doing!  Lyrium is already a pioneer science, red lyrium is even stranger! If only the Chantry didn't have such a vice grip on the Lyrium market, _someone_ might know anything about what I'm trying to do.

 

Archanist Dagna, project log; R. Day60

HE SAID OW!!! When I was removing the shards in his face, I pulled something and he pulled back and said "ow"! It was incredible!!! L not nearly as excited as me. Progress! Finally!!

 

Archanist Dagna, project log; R. Day67

The shards in his face haven't regrown and the shards in his back and chest have slowed in their development immensely. I swear I saw the subject smile too. L had one of those stuffed nugs and had put it down. The subject picked it up to examine it and I SWEAR he smiled.

 

Archanist Dagna, project log; R. Day70

Crystal regrowth at 5%. Subject speech not nearly as hampered as it was before. He can say whole sentences now, and he can emote with the best if them. I'm not saying "cure" but I am saying that L hasn't been this happy in months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is a shorter chapter. i couldnt find another way to cover this much time


	6. A Quest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter has some time to recover and decides its time to start his search

Peter examined himself in the mirror. He had removed the bandages to examine the scars. There were divots where the lyrium had protruded from his flesh, there probably always would be. He tried not to look at his face. That would probably never grow back either. He still favored his left leg, but at least he could stand up straight now. Well, straight enough.  

He still hurt, pains that feel like the crystals bristling under his skin. The Archanist said a lot of things about the red, its regrowth rate, why he would need regular checkups, and most importantly, why it would never truly go away. He didn't really understand a lot of it, but he got the gist; He would never be fully free of it. 

Still, he didn't hear the song anymore, and he didn't serve as a nightlight. His mind was wonderfully clear now, he liked to remember his alphabet, and count backwards from high numbers. Most importantly, he remembered Her, and that he needed to find her. But to find her, he needed help. 

Pulling on a shirt, he exited his room to go find Lace. They had kept him in a closet when he had been toxic. Now, he had his own room in the keep. The Inquisitor was a very generous person. 

Lace was sitting outside of the Herald's Rest, enjoying an apple. Her face brightened when he approached. Her scar seemed to shrink when she smiled. He wondered if his scars would ever look as at home on his face as hers did. 

"Hey," she greeted him with a wave. 

"Hi..." Peter said. Talking didn't hurt like it used to, his mouth wasn't confused and his head didn't hurt when he tried to think about sentences. It was slow going though. Like thinking around a head of molasses. 

"How are you feeling?" Lace asked. 

"Bruised..." Peter said, subconsciously touching his chest and the scars concealed under his shirt. "I need... The Inquisitor." He continued, haltingly. Lace frowned. 

"Okay." She looked like she wanted to ask questions, but held her tongue. 

"And... You," Peter added, in case she missed his implication. Lace's furrowed brows shot up in surprise. 

"Me?" She asked. Peter just nodded. After a moment of the two of them just standing there, Peter gestured towards the main hall. 

"Oh! You mean now," she said sheepishly. Peter gave her a tiny smile. His face let him do that now, mostly. 

The two headed up the stairs in the direction of the war room. Lace chatted about a new arrow trick she had picked up from one of the Inquisitor's companions. Peter liked when Lace talked to him. Or at him, as he wasn't very good at holding his end of the conversation yet. 

Lace pushed the door to the war room open and they slunk in. Commander Cullen had been speaking but stopped when he caught sight of Peter. The commander didn't like Peter. Peter couldn't blame him. Peter didn't even like Peter. 

The Inquisitor on the other hand, smiled brightly at the two of them. 

"Hello, friends, how can we be of assistance?" She asked amiably. 

"Need... Help," Peter swallowed nervously. 

"Obviously," the Commander muttered and the Inquisitor shot him a glare. 

"Help... Finding someone," Peter elaborated. 

"Who?" The spymaster asked immediately. 

"I don't... Know," Peter admitted. The Commander snorted. 

"Great, we'll get right to it." 

"Perhaps you should start at the beginning, Peter," the Inquisitor suggested, shooting another glare at her commander. 

So Peter told them, about his dreams, about how he had come to be aware of himself again, and about his gut feeling that he had to find whoever she was. It took the better part of an hour, but no one interrupted him, not even the commander. 

When he was finished, the golden lady sighed. 

"That's not much to go on, is it? Long brown hair?" 

"That's not anything to go on," the spymaster said bluntly. 

"We don't even know if she still wears it long," the Inquisitor chewed on her thumbnail. "All we know is that she's a woman." 

"Perhaps we would have better luck finding people who knew Peter before," the commander suggested. Peter blinked at him. "We have an idea where he came from, we don't even know that about this mystery woman." 

"That's an excellent idea," the golden lady said, scribbling on her notepad. 

"Hold on," Lace interrupted. "What makes you think anyone one who knew him is still, um, alive?" 

"It's a lead," the Inquisitor shrugged. "I'll take what we can get frankly." 

Peter stared at her, unmoving. He didn't know what he thought about learning more about his past. He couldn't go back, even if he had a home to go back to. He wasn't the same as he had been. Going back would only hurt anyone involved. 

But if it found Her... He had to do it.

\--

Lace felt a little bit out of place in the war room, as the big people talked strategy. She didn't have anything pertinent to add. If they wanted her to shoot the head off a Venatori at 100 paces, she's your dwarf. She wasn't even sure what she was doing there. She had only found Peter. The fact she and Peter got along well wasn't a reason to include her in planning sessions. 

Then Peter looked down at her. It was only for a second, and only Lace could have seen it from that angle. But for a second, Peter looked well and truly scared. Without thinking, she reached out to give his hand a squeeze. She was going to release his hand, but Peter held tight. So they stood there, holding hands while the leaders of the inquisition made plans for his future. Whatever it may be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i like hand holding


	7. The Trouble With Stallions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An encounter with a horse, and someone from Peter's past.

The first stop was one of the only remaining circles of magi. Not that it was under the Chantry control anymore, and any Templars or mages still living there weren't part of any organization. Documentation put Peter there a month or two before what happened in Kirkwall. All official Templar documentation stopped after what happened in Kirkwall, so they were lucky to have even that. It happened to be in Ostwick, so Erica was more than happy to escort them up there.

And it was a them, strangely enough. Lace was to accompany Peter and Erica to Ostwick. When she asked the Inquisitor why, all she got was:

"Because he needs you."

She refused to elaborate any further. Which was confusing to say the least. Peter was, physically, a very capable man. Stronger than most men, in fact. He didn't need help dressing himself, or walking anymore. The hunch he had had when he had come to Skyhold was almost gone, it was more of a slouch now. So why he would need Lace was beyond her.

Maybe it was just that Peter and Lace seemed to enjoy eachothers company. The inquisitor was exactly the kind of person who would send them together just because they seemed to be friends. But if that was the case, that was a really dramatic way to say it.

Thinking on it as they road through the gates of the stronghold, late in the afternoon, Lace shook her head. Inquisitor Trevelyan was a dramatic person, but her drama manifested in the weirdest ways. Like the extravagant Andrastian decor in the main hall, or the massive amounts of money she spent on beds in Orlais.

For his part, Peter stared at his hands, which were clenched around his reigns. As the Inquisitor's party was led to the stables, Lace watched him. She would have thought he would be looking around, trying to jog his memory. She decided to ask him about it as he dismounted. Lace moved to do just that, but she moved too carelessly, and ran into the path of one of the big, Templar chargers.

Everything happened all at once. Lace saw the horse baring down on her, it was huge. She had nowhere to go that wasn't full of horse. But just as suddenly, there was a wall of muscle in between her and the horse, knocking her to the ground. It was Peter. The horse hit Peter in the chest at incredible speeds and Lace cried out. Peter didn't even flinch.

With one hand, he reached out and shoved the horse's nose with one big hand. The horse stumbled backwards, and fell over, kicking the air as it screamed. Peter ignored the animal and turned to Lace.

"Sorry... I pushed you," Peter said, there was a hoof print on his face and his lip was bleeding.

"Peter!" Lace berated him as best as she could as she scrambled to her feet. She hadn't even felt herself hit the ground. "Your face! You should pay more attention to your surroundings." She reached up her hands to inspect the damage. Peter had to kneel so she could get a better look.

" _You_ should," Peter insisted and Lace made a dismissive noise. She was still shaken.

"Well," the inquisitor said from behind Peter. "I've never liked stallions anyway." She stood in the middle of the stables, where the charger had been lying. The beast was nowhere in sight but Lace didn't care where it had gone.

"Half of your face is going to turn purple," Lace said reproachfully to Peter. Peter's expression didn't change. It rarely did.

"Scared..." Peter said very quietly, startling Lace.

"Yes," she said, trying to keep her voice low.  "That scared me, but I'm fine." She didn't have to talk too loud. He was still kneeling before her and she still had her hands on his face.

"Scared," Peter repeated and then continued. "You scared me..."

Lace blinked at him, mulling over his words. She had scared him? Before she could dedicate any thought to it, Trevelyan came up beside the two and let out a low whistle and a curse at Peter's injuries.

"I'm getting you a warnug," was all she said though. "Come on, we've got people to meet."

\--

That was the first time Peter had ever gotten scared without any red inside of him. Red didn't fill his vision, and he had no strength to call on except his own. But when it became clear that Lace didn't see the horse baring down on her, Peter had moved before he knew he was going to.

He wasn't angry, not even when the animal had reared up and its hooves had struck him in the face and chest. He just needed to get the creature away from Lace. She was very small, and this horse was very big. So he had pushed it away. He was as surprised as anyone when it fell over, but he turned back to Lace then.

Peter's brain caught up with his actions and he saw Lace pick herself off the ground and dust herself off. He realized he had shoved her down to get her out of the way. That made his heart sink, he didn't want to hurt her. He was very large, like the horse, and she was very, very small.

Lace didn't look scared though, and Peter relaxed a little. She moved towards him even and he knelt so she could examine him. He was dimly aware of the Inquisitor yelling at people and the horse being led away, but Lace was talking, so he gave her his attention. He hadn't even realized he had vocalized his thoughts until her face changed.

But then the Inquisitor was back and led Peter out into the courtyard. He finally began to look around at his surroundings. He didn't want to remember. Remembering would hurt, and Peter was very tired of hurting. But he forced himself to stare at the walls and the people, to see if there was a spark of recognition. If it helped him find Her, he had to.

A sudden flash of light and Peter clutched his head. He stopped walking and someone ran into him. He hardly noticed, so lost in the torrent of memories that gripped him.

He was sitting at a table, laughing at something that wasn't funny. There were men and women around him, they were like him. Peter didn't really know why they were like him, but he knew that he was part of them. One of them clapped him on the shoulder and Peter brought up his arm to embrace the attacker. He tried to see their face and--

"Peter?" Someone said. Peter looked up. He was sitting on the ground, with Lace standing beside him. But she hadn't been the one who had spoken.

A man in armor looked down at Peter, he looked pale, like he had just seen a ghost. Peter wondered if he had seen the same memory he had.

"Andraste preserve me," the man breathed, dragging a hand over his face. "It's you isn't it?"

"You know Peter?" The inquisitor asked, stepping into Peter's narrowed vision. The man in armor nodded, dumbly, his eyes never leaving Peter.

"When we heard what happened at Therinfal Redoubt I just assumed..." He trailed off.

"Maybe we should go somewhere more private," the inquisitor suggested, putting a quelling--or comforting, her motivations were unclear--hand on the man's arm. The man merely nodded.

Lace helped Peter get to his feet as best she could and they all headed down a tight hallway to a dimly lit room. The inquisitor sat on a table against the wall. Peter wanted to stand, but his legs wanted to sit, so he collapsed on the bench in the middle of the room. Lace stood next to him.

The man in armor stood against the far wall, directly across from Peter. His eyes might have fallen out of his head, they were open so wide as he stared at Peter. Peter stared back. After a minute of this, the Inquisitor spoke up.

"You can't win a staring contest with him," she informed the man lightly. "He's like a cat, he only blinks when he feels like it."

The man in armor tore his gaze away and looked at the floor.

"My apologies," he said to the floor. "I imagine I must seem rude, but you must understand," he looked at the inquisitor. "I was pretty sure he was dead."

"Maybe you should start at the beginning," the Inquisitor suggested in a reasonable tone of voice. The man shrugged.

"What has he told you?"

"Nothing," Lace piped up. "He doesn't remember anything."

The armored man stared at Peter again. The pity in his eyes didn't mean anything to Peter, and he stared back, expectantly.

"Well," the man cleared his throat and looked back to the inquisitor. "My name is Horus, and Peter was... Peter was a recruit at the same time I was."

He went on to explain how they had been in the circle for several months when Peter had gotten the transfer orders to Therinfal Redoubt. Lots of people were getting sent that way. Peter had been excited.

"Which was strange," the man said.

"In what way?" The inquisitor asked immediately.

"I don't really know," he admitted. "He just seemed to be really eager to get to that part of Thedas," he shrugged. "Peter was mysterious like that. It always seemed like he had a plan everyone had a part in, but only he knew the whole of."

"What was he like?" Lace asked, unexpectedly. She had been remarkably silent the whole time the armored man had been speaking.

The armored man didn't answer for a long moment as he stared at Peter. Peter blinked back.

"I'm sorry," the man said, tearing his gaze away. "It's just, so strange to talk about him when he's right there."

"Take your time," the inquisitor said. There was a long pause, as the armored man continued to avoid looking at Peter.

"Peter was... Very charismatic," the man said to Lace. "It wasn't just that he was attractive, he had a lot of young lady admirers. It was his easy-going attitude." A smile touched his lips. "He could talk himself out of any trouble he got himself in..." His gaze fell back on Peter's scarred face and the smile fled. "Almost any trouble."

Peter had a flash of memory then. It hurt, like an icicle through his skull. He was talking to a stern-looking man, with a very nervous Horus beside him, holding a pair of ladies small clothes. The pain and memory faded, and he was back on the bench.

His head had dropped to his hands, and when he raised it, everyone was looking at him with a variety of different expressions on their faces. Lace looked concerned, the inquisitor looked curious, and the man in armor looked suspicious.

"It's... Not a real party, until someone's smallclothes are... pinned to the chantry's board," he said to the bewilderment of all except the armored man, who laughed, heartily. Peter had a softer memory of a girl's laugh. The scent of apples.

"Maker, yes," the man in armor wiped his eyes. "Ser Mannis was livid. We scraped wax off the floor for weeks."

Peter smiled as best he could. The man in armor sobered and looked sad.

"You never complained though," he said.

"You... Did enough," Peter swallowed thickly. "Did enough complaining... For the both of us."

The man in armor snorted a laugh.

"That I did," he said distantly, and then turned to the Inquisitor. "You might find more help in his home town," he offered, turning back to look at Peter. "You spoke of a mother, in a town just outside of Wycomb."

"Its a start," the Inquisitor shrugged. She smiled though, standing and crossing the room to shake the armored man's hand.

It was decided that they would stay the night, before heading to Wycomb. The Inquisitor arranged for some modest rooms and they all turned in early to get a fresh start on the long ride the next morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone caught on to the fact that i dont like horses yet?


	8. A Good Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> good old fashioned bed sharing

Peter was led to a modest room before he tasted blood. At first he thought it was the phantom pains he sometimes got from the Red. He touched one hand to his mouth, and hissed in pain when he touched his split lip. He had been caught up in memories all day, and hadn't noticed the extent of the damage the horse had caused.

It was late, and Peter had no idea what to do. He absently put another log on the fire as he considered. He watched the flames consume the new log. The wood turned black and pitted, warping from the heat. Peter thought he could relate, but he forced his mind from that train of thought. He could just bleed everywhere, but he thought that would be impolite. The Inquisitor would probably know what to do, but Peter knew who he needed.

It took him another hour for him to build up the courage to go to Lace's room. He tiptoed past the Inquisitor's room, which was in between the room Peter had been given, and the room he'd seen Lace go into. He wasn't doing anything wrong, but he still didn't want her to stop... Whatever he was doing.

It wasn't until he knocked that he considered the fact that Lace might be asleep. Before he could panic or turn around, the door opened to a sleepy looking Lace. She was wearing a nightdress, and was rubbing her eyes. Peter's heart sped up.

\--

"Peter?" Lace asked sleepily. "Is something wrong?"

Peter shook his head, but then nodded, and pointed at his lip. It was split and bleeding, and looked like it hurt. Lace made a sympathetic sound to disguise a yawn.

"Come in, I think I have some Elfroot balm in my bag," she said, ushering Peter inside and shutting the door. "Sit down by the fire." She instructed as crossed the room to her bag. She found the salve and turned around to find Peter sitting on the rug in front of the fireplace, she had to smile at that.

"I meant on the chair." She gestured to the couch seat a few feet away. Peter just looked up at her. She shrugged and opened the tiny jar. He looked at her expectantly as she began to administer the Elfroot balm. It had been a long day, and Lace was tired, but even through her sleepy haze, she sensed that Peter had something on his mind.

"Whatcha thinking about?" Lace asked eventually, finishing her administrations. Putting the lid back on the jar of Elfroot salve as she yawned, hugely. Peter was silent for a long time, as she put the jar back in her bag. She almost thought he wasn't going to say anything at all, when he finally spoke.

"I am not... The same," he tried to explain. "I'm missing..."

"I found you," Lace said without thinking, and then put her hand over her eyes. Andraste's ass, she really must have been asleep. When she finally turned back to him, Peter was just staring at his hands.

"I used to be... Good," Peter stammered, frowned, and tried again. "Whole." He said bitterly.

"You're still you," Lace insisted, putting a hand on one of his. She didn't usually initiate contact. He had been toxic for a long time, he wasn't used to physical touch. But he didn't startle away, so Lace kept her hand there.

"How... do you know?" Peter asked. He looked at her face then. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. It was painfully clear, even to Peter, that she didn't know. She hadn't known him before the Red Lyrium. Peter hung his head, his elbows resting on his knees, making himself as tight and compact as possible for him.

In that moment, she was filled with compassion for her big friend. Who stood in front of horses to protect dwarves who didn't look where they were going. Who didn't remember who he was but remembered someone was depending on him. She wrapped her small arms as far around him as they would go. Her cheek pressed against his shoulder. Peter didn't lift his head, he just leaned into her touch.

They sat for a long time, her holding him, listening to eachothers breathing. She yawned, hugely and Peter finally looked at her. He smiled his half smile at her. The scars on his face made it an effort, and the bruise made it more so. She smiled back, and yawned again.

Without really thinking about it, she tugged on his arm and made her way towards the big stupid human bed. She climbed in, refusing to acknowledge the helping hand he gave her, and rolled herself up in all of the covers. She also refused to acknowledge the soft chuckle from Peter.

"Stay..." Lace murmured, too tired to be mortified at her own request. Peter seemed to debate for a moment, before he lay down facing her. He kept several hands width empty space between them. Lace felt very small next to him. Not in a bad way, not like he overpowered her, but like the feeling of sitting in a big comfy chair and feeling safe. That was it, Peter felt like safety.

"You're my friend, Peter, and a good man." Lace yawned for the third time. "That may not be who you are as a whole, but I hope that's enough for now."

\--

Peter watched Lace slip into sleep, cocooned in blankets. He smiled, feeling sleep pull at his own eyelids. Maybe she was right, that might be enough for now.

He dreamed of a house in a field. A field of barley. A pale green dress, dark brown hair. Laughter. Sunlight dappled through the trees. Dark hallways, and red Lyrium.

He awoke in the dark, a sleeping Lace leaning against his chest. She had rolled, still wrapped in blanket and sheets, so that her forehead rested just beneath his clavicle. Peter listened to the sound of her light snoring and thought about the images.

For better or worse, Peter was going home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i like doing dream sequences


	9. Anturie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rainstorm, and some memories

Anturie, which turned out to be the name of Peter's home town, was several miles inland from Wycomb. The trip there was uneventful. Erica went so far as to say it was the most pleasant and relaxing couple of days in her run as Inquisitor. Lace was a tiny bit more stressed out, but it wasn't the oppressive sunshine, or the mild scenery that put her off.

Lace was starting to think her fondness for Peter was turning into a girlish crush. It wasn't that he was attractive, he was a human, first of all. There was his scaring, but Lace didn't count that against his overall appearance. Lots of attractive people had scars. Take her for example. He did have those big brown eyes, but Lace had never been attracted to a human before.

She found herself alternately being unable to meet his gaze, and being unable to tear her eyes away from him. She did her best to ignore the butterflies. Peter was her friend, and he needed her help. She was a little worried he would notice. Then again, Peter's mind was as scarred as the rest of him by the red lyrium. It was tough to tell what he was thinking and what he understood.

\--

Peter had thought he might recognize the scenery as they approached his home. But there were no flashes of memories as he observed the fields and forests they passed through. He wasn't paying too much attention to their surroundings, he was a little too busy staring at his hands. He thought he could feel the Red trying to push through his hands. They ached like cold fire. But if he was being honest. He was much more interested in how Lace was doing.

Sometimes, he would catch her looking at him, and she would quickly avert her gaze. Other times, she would look up and meet his gaze and hold it. He wondered what it could mean. And although he paid her very little attention, the inquisitor always seemed to be casting looks at both of them equally. She seemed annoyed at whatever she saw. But Peter didn't dedicate any of his time thinking about her.

Instead, he fretted about how much Red might still be in his system, and what he might find when they arrived. His armored friend hadn't said Peter had ever mentioned a father, just a mother back in Anturie. Peter wondered if it might not be better for his mother to think him dead like his armored friend had.

\--

"I don't like the look of those clouds," Erica grumbled at the sky as they left their horses in the stables of their inn. "They're in a bad temper."

"Have you always been a weather mage?" Lace smirked, rasing one eyebrow.

"That's what my ship captain always used to say when she saw rain in the clouds," Erica grinned back.

"Should we bed down?" Lace asked, eyeing the clouds. They looked like clouds to her, she had never been one for predicting the weather. "It's still early."

Erica chewed her lip and looked pensive. She glanced from the sky to Peter, who was staring into the middle distance intently, back to the sky. Eventually she sighed and shook her head.

"No, we should at least get started while there's daylight." Erica walked past Peter, giving his shoulder a friendly pat. Peter blinked rapidly, seemingly coming back to himself. He looked to Lace for direction, who blushed and followed the Inquisitor.

They started at the Chantry, because the revered mothers tended to know everyone in town. But it turned out, the revered mother was new, and barely knew all of the sisters in the Chantry. That didn't seem to phase Erica, and she pushed on to the market square.

The wind was picking up and the clouds were definitely developing a menacing look, so many of the stalls were closed. They asked around for a while, with no luck.

"Not that I expected to find anything right away," Erica said, leaning on a fence post. They had wandered to the edge of town, where the fields met the backyards. "It's not like we have a ton of information to go on."

"I thought for sure someone would recognize Peter," Lace said.

"It's been a long time," Erica said, looking a Peter with an unreadable expression on her face. "Little boys grow up..." She trailed off.

Peter was staring out at the field behind her. For a moment, Lace thought he was just lost in thought again, but then she noticed the set of his shoulders and jaw. His attention was definitely drawn by something out there. She followed his gaze.

\--

It was a field of barley. Not now, because it was too late in the season for barley. But in Peter's mind, it was a full field of barley crop. It was also sunnier in Peter's vision. The sun was setting, he had to get home.

Peter thought he heard voices as he made his way up the path, but it was probably just the crows. He should really see about that scarecrow. He jogged a good pace, they would be waiting dinner on him, he just knew it. Rounding the bend he saw the house, already lit from within.

He thought he could smell the food cooking and smiled as he bounded up to the door and--

And a drop of rain hit his face. Peter reached up a hand to touch the place it hit. He looked up as another raindrop hit his head, then his shoulder, then his face again. When he looked back at the house, it was cold and dark. No light came from the windows, no smell of food wafted through the door.

"Shit," the inquisitor swore behind him. He looked back to see her holding her arm above her head in a vain attempt to ward off the rapidly increasing raindrops. Beside her stood Lace, who was looking at him with a soft look of concern on her face.

Peter looked back at the house, it was empty, but it was also dry. He pushed open the door. He heard the women having a hurried conversation on the doorstep before following him in. He paid them little mind.

The house was bare, no furnishings, no decorations of any kind. He saw it as it had been though. He moved around the sofa to the fireplace with the pot in it. He added a log to the fire and turned to tell Barley to go and fetch the kettle.

The inquisitor stood with Lace in the doorway. They stared at him with wide eyes. Peter worried they were afraid and tried to think of what he had done to scare them. Then he remembered there was no fire... And no Barley. Wait...

"Her name..." Peter began. He had to swallow and try again, his mouth was so dry. "Her name is Barley."

"You remembered something?" Lace asked, excitedly.

"Barley isn't a real name," was all the Inquisitor said. Lace cast a reproachful glance her way.

"I... I called her Barley," Peter insisted.

"Tell us what you saw," Lace said, moving to him.

Peter told them as best he could. A lot of it had been impressions he had had, and it was hard to speak them aloud. To her credit, the Inquisitor didn't seem to think he was lying or stupid. She patiently asked clarifying questions, and let Peter find his words as slowly as he needed to.

They moved to sit together on the floor. The sound of the rain pounding on the roof, and the occasional thunder made it hard of Peter to concentrate. That is, until Lace slid her little hand into his. He grasped it gratefully, and was much more coherent from there.

\--

"Okay, so this was your house," Erica said when it was clear Peter was spent for information. "Good, we can find out where your mother moved from here."

Lace shot her a sharp look. Erica didn't believe a word of what she had just said. Lace would have called her on it, except Peter chose just then to rest his forehead on the top of her head. He was fever-warm, and she could tell he was in pain; obviously tired by the days events. So was she, frankly. Watching Peter get a glassy look in his eyes and then take off had been a trying experience. Keeping up with the tall ass humans had been worse.

"We should get back to the inn," she said to the Inquisitor, who had the weirdest look on her face. Like she just ate some off cheese or something.

"Let's hurry, and hope the inn has a bath service." Was all she said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyone order some mutual pining?


	10. Girl Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erica and Lace discuss their findings. Peter makes another discovery.

Lace practically had to swim through the mud but they got back to the inn they had stashed their horses at in relatively good time. Erica ordered three baths be brought. It was a small inn, and the woman in charge gave them a sour look. But Erica flashed a few sovereigns and the woman nodded cheerfully and started yelling at a few cowed-looking maids as the group made their way upstairs.

"So what do you _actually_ think?" Lace asked when she and the Inquisitor were alone in their room. The inquisitor might be opulent, but the inn was small, and only had two rooms available, so the ladies got to share.

"About what?" Erica asked, wringing out her ponytail.

"About Peter's house," Lace elaborated. "You didn't seem as convinced as you let on."

"I keep forgetting how sharp you actually are," Erica grinned, making Lace grit her teeth. "I believe him, if that's what you're getting at."

Still smarting at the 'actually' in the Inquisitor's statement, Lace angrily tugged off her boots.

"So why?" Lace asked.

"I don't think his mother is still alive," Erica explained. "I don't think she moved anywhere but the arms of the Maker."

There was a polite rap on the door and a large tub was hauled in, followed by buckets of steaming water. Lace boldly moved towards the tub before the inquisitor could. She could be condescending too.

"What about the nickname?" Lace asked, removing her muddy clothes and stepping into the hot water. To her further annoyance, Erica just looked amused.

"Well, we have something to call her now," Erica said. "But a nickname won't help us track down the real woman."

Lace was quiet then, pretending to focus on washing her hair. They hadn't made any progress then. If anything, they had taken a step backwards. They had at least had leads that morning. Now, all they had were dead ends.

"It's okay to be happy for him though," Erica said, in an infuriatingly encouraging. "He made some big steps today. Just because they don't get _us_ anywhere, doesn't mean we can't be glad he took them." Erica was smiling kindly at her and Lace felt her embarrassment rise and hid it in more indignation.

"Just because I'm short, doesn't mean you can treat me like a child, Inquisitor," she growled as she angrily scrubbed her arms. Erica just laughed merrily and Lace didn't speak for her remaining time in the washtub.

She was toweled dry and dressed for bed when the fresh hot water arrived. As the Inquisitor stripped, she glanced over her shoulder at Lace, brushing her hair on the bed.

"Would you care to check on Peter?" She asked with that same blank expression on her face she had had on before. Lace had been thinking just that, and the Inquisitor suggesting it made it seem less embarrassing. Casually as she was able, she quickly braided her hair into something manageable and slid off the bed.

"I guess I could," she said, offhandedly. "Since you mention it," she added on her way out the door. She shut the door behind her and dashed down the hall to Peter's room.

Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door. Hearing Peter's muffled reply she pushed the door open and poked her head in... To find a largely naked Peter standing near the bed, changing. Letting out a squeak of surprise, Lace quickly shut the door and pressed her back to it.

"I'm sorry!" Lace called through the door as she covered her face in embarrassment. Mentally, she ordered herself to get a grip. Peter was her friend, and he's not the first man she'd seen naked. He wasn't even the only human she had ever seen naked... He still had  the scars from where the Red Lyrium had been. Like vivid red canyons across his skin.

After a minute or two the door behind her started to open and Lace stumbled away from it and turned to face Peter, who peeked his head out. He frowned at her, quizzically.

"Are you... Okay?" Peter asked. He was wearing a shirt now, thank the maker.

"I just... Wanted to check on how you were doing," Lace said, haltingly. "It's been a rough day."

"It has," Peter agreed as he held the door open for her to enter. She scurried inside and he shut the door. Peter sat on the bed and looked at her with those large brown eyes and Lace found her head emptying of any relevant thought.

So there they stayed, nearly the same height with him sitting on the bed and her standing next to it. He seemed tired, not like he was ready for sleep, more like he couldn’t take any more surprises that day. He looked exhausted. The silence was stifling until Peter spoke suddenly.

"Where'd you get..." He gestured to his scarred cheek. Lace unconsciously reached up to touch the long scar on her own cheek.

The question caught her off-guard, hardly anyone mentioned the scar anymore. She found herself blushing, she was doing a lot of that lately and frankly it was getting annoying.

"It's not a very interesting story," she said, fidgeting with her braid. "I fell on a garden hoe." Lace blurted out. Peter frowned in confusion. "With my face... Obviously." Lace added gesturing, vaguely, to the scar.

"Not in... a Fight?" Peter asked. It seemed important to him, and he hadn't laughed like everyone else she'd ever told.

"Nope, just my feet not agreeing with the direction rest of me was going," she said. "It hurt like hell for a few weeks. It was slightly infected, so it took longer to heal then it might have." She continued talking to fill the silence between them.

Peter considered her the whole time she was babbling nervously. Without speaking, he reached out to touch her scar. He never initiated physical contact, and Lace was so surprised that she didn't pull away. He barely brushed her with his big fingers, curiously tracing the scar on her cheek. It was downright sensual and Lace blushed hotter than dragon fire.

"Do you think..." Peter started in his slow way. "That people will see my scars... And think of them like yours?" He asked. Curiosity briefly quashing her embarrassment, Lace frowned quizzically at Peter.

"What do people think of my scar?" Lace asked, genuinely perplexed.

"They're... beautiful," Peter said and Lace lost her breath. "Do you think... I'll ever be beautiful, Lace?" He asked with a strained look on his face. The bruise on his face from his encounter with the charger was nearly gone now. All that remained was a faint yellow tinge to the left side of his face.

Lace remembered what Ser Horus had said back in Ostwick. He spoke of how charismatic Peter had been, how many lady friends he had. For a moment, imagined him without the trauma; Scars gone, face less gaunt. There might have been a time when he had been handsome... Maybe even beautiful.

Peter didn't look like the question hurt him, not like it was tearing him up inside, he just looked confused. Like he was trying to put back together pieces that just didn't fit anymore. It hurt her heart a little if she was being honest. It wasn't his fault someone took a hammer to the jigsaw of his life.

"I think you're perfect," Lace said, truthfully. A man doesn't go through what Peter went through unscathed. Peter managed to come out a gentle and sweet man. Not exactly innocent, she'd seen him bash a man's skull in with his bare hands, after all. But he was kind. And kindness in their world didn't come easily.

Peter frowned at her.

"But I'm..." Peter made a circular motion in the air with his hands, trying to connect his thoughts. "Not... Whole," he managed finally.

"You've got head on your shoulders," Lace said, taking a step closer, poking his forehead gently. "Two hands," she picked up and held his big hands, smiling at him encouragingly. "Two feet," she nudged his toes with hers before letting go of one of his hands to gently brush the front of his shirt. "A heart," Lace swallowed, her eyes on her hand where it lay against his chest. She couldn't tell if she was feeling his heartbeat racing or her own.

The look he was giving her was too much. Too tender, like she held his salvation in hands. It was all too much suddenly. Too much responsibility for one dwarf. She wasn't the Inquisitor; Lace didn't know how anyone could have more than one person look at them like they kept the world together with their bare hands.

"A-anyway," Lace said, stepping away from Peter and towards the door. "You should get some sleep. We're going to be leaving in the morning." She quickly crossed the room to the door and opened it.

She cast one last look towards him before closing the door behind her. She halted at the sight of the lost look on Peter's face, her heart lurched at the sight.

"Good night," she said with a soft smile.

"Night..." Peter said without returning the smile. Lace closed the door and practically ran down the hall to her room.

\--

Her hand had been warm against his chest and he missed her nearness when she was gone. He found himself missing Lace a lot of the time, actually.

Peter hissed in pain and massaged his hand. He thought he felt the red crystals pushing through. It had been getting worse since he had found his old house. He moved from his hands to his jaw, and then down his neck. He pulled his hand away, blood smearing his fingers. He stared, uncomprehending the cut bleeding on his hand. Slowly, he pulled the neck of his shirt, revealing his chest.

His chest with four tiny spikes of lyrim trying to dig its way out of his torso. Like tiny stab wounds, as if he was being stabbed from the inside. His hands shaking, he let the collar of his shirt go, he saw blood start to bleed through the fabric. Peter's head refused to make any connections, instead offering up one awful question.

Had Lace seen? Was that why she had left so quickly?

He didn't think her sudden exit had been a result of something he had done. At least, he was pretty sure he hadn't scared her. But she had practically run from the room. She had practically ran from him. Lace had never run from him before.

Peter frowned and climbed into bed. He could only hope that he didn't dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bum bum BUUUUUM!


	11. Red Lyrium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter does not react well to the next phase of the plan.

They left Anturie at dawn, much to the innkeeper's disappointment. The Inquisitor tossed her a few coppers on her way out the door anyway. Peter wasn't really paying attention to the innkeeper, or the inquisitor though. He was terrified that the Inquisitor, or worse, Lace would figure out the lyrium was growing back. His memory was still coming back, or at least, he was pretty sure it was. Maybe this was the exchange. Maybe he had to lose his body to regain his mind. The thought didn't inspire him to honesty with his friends.

Anyway, Lace was avoiding him since that night he had discovered the lyrium. It wasn't bleeding any more, and they weren't getting bigger. Lace wasn't as strong as Peter, but she was twice as fast, and more deadly by half. He probably couldn't make Lace do anything she didn't want to do. So he didn't think he had done anything, but she still seemed to be avoiding him.

It distracted him so much, that he almost couldn't worry about Barley. Almost. The inquisitor had said that wasn't a name, but Peter could feel in his gut that it was Her. He still felt like he had to find her, but now there was a gnawing guilt to go with it. Had he his whole mind, he might know where the anxiety was coming from. But he had only a handful of images and this gut feeling.

Peter remembered the look on Lace's face when she told him he was perfect, and he got lost in the memory of her eyes again.

"Hey big guy," the Inquisitor said, suddenly at his elbow. Then again, he had been staring at the ocean with such intensity that she could have screamed the whole approach and he probably wouldn’t have noticed. He spared the Inquisitor a glance before returning his gaze to the sea. It was choppy, and the color of, well, seawater.

"You know, I used to be a sailor," she said, conversationally as she leaned on the rail next to him. "Of course, that was before all this red lyrium nonsense."

Peter frowned, and touched his chest nervously. He had wrapped his chest in bandages, but he imagined he could still feel the crystals cutting through his flesh. The Inquisitor sighed, a sad sound that cut through Peter's reverie.

"Damn it, Peter," she said, still staring at the sea. "When were you going to tell me that the crystals were growing back?"

Peter's eyes grew wide as he stared at the Inquisitor, his mouth gaping open. Frantically he glanced up ship to see if Lace was around to overhear their conversation. The dwarf was nowhere in sight, so Peter turned his eyes back to the Inquisitor.

"How…" Peter shrugged helplessly.

"You rub your chest whenever someone mentions red lyrium," she said, and Peter sheepishly dropped his hand back to the railing. "That, and the bandages and blood… well, I can put two and two together and get evil red crystals."

"You won't…" Peter swallowed and tried again. "You won't tell Lace, will you?" He asked. The Inquisitor let out a frustrated sigh.

"Maker's breath, Peter," she turned to him. "If the lyrium is growing back then we need to get you back to Skyhold, where Dagna can see to you. I don't think keeping secrets from Lace is your highest priority."

"I just…" Peter grasped the air as if it were his fleeting thoughts. "I don't want her to be afraid of me."

The Inquisitor's face softened and she touched Peter's shoulder in a consoling way. She studied his face for a long moment. She seemed to come to a decision and stifled another sigh.

"I won't tell her," She said. "But you should. And we should get you back to Skyhold as soon as possible." The Inquisitor turned from the bow of the ship and walked away from him. Peter caught her by the arm, she turned a questioning look on him.

"Not while…" Peter cleared his throat. "We're so close."

The Inquisitor raised an eyebrow at him, and then cast a pointed look to the hand still on her arm. Peter let go, and the Inquisitor gave him a nod as she walked away.

They traveled to Wycomb in nervous silence, the Inquisitor seemed to read the mood between Peter and Lace and decided not to waste energy on small talk. They took ship back to Fereldan, which was odd, but Peter didn't remember why until they had been at sea for several days. They were supposed to stop in Val Royaux.

Peter didn't see what difference it made, but the change in itinerary, mysteriously added to his anxiety. He wished he could talk to Lace, but she always seemed distracted when they spoke. She fidgeted a lot, and wouldn't look him in the eye. He was loathed to cause her pain, so he kept to himself.

And dreamed of barley.

\--

Lace Harding was a grown ass adult Dwarf, she was not going to avoid the man she had a massive crush on. She would power through the blush that rose to her cheeks whenever he looked at her. She would fight the instinct to mumble and avert her gaze. But the memory of the feel of his heartbeat under her fingertips nearly drove her to distraction. Lace desperately needed to know how he felt about her, at the same time, she didn't think she could handle it.

Grown. Ass. Adult.

Blessedly, Peter seemed distracted, and Lace felt awful for considering his discomfort a good thing. But the more time he spent in quiet contemplation, the more time Lace could sort out her crush.

The Inquisitor, for her part, was uncharacteristically quiet. Lace might go so far as to say Erica was actively avoiding her. Always talking to the sailors, and running off to other parts of the ship when Lace approached. She was also pretty smug about something, and Lace wasn't sure if she wanted to know what the Inquisitor knew. Or thought she knew anyway.

It wasn't until they had traveled all the way to Denerim that Erica finally laid all her cards on the table.

"I'd like to head to Therinfal Redoubt," The Inquisitor said suddenly. They were eating breakfast in the noisy port tavern Erica had picked. Or, Peter had been eating, until the inquisitor spoke.

"Why?" Peter asked after a very long silence.

"That's the last place you were seen," Erica said. "Or the closest thing to it." She speared a sausage on her fork. "And something Ser Horus said has me intrigued."

"How so?" Lace asked. She was sitting next to Peter, close enough to feel the tension rolling off him in waves.

"He said Peter had been excited to be transferred," she supplied, theatrically. She was pleased to have figured something out.

"A promotion maybe?" Lace asked, Erica shook her head.

"His wording made me think that there was something near Therinfal Redoubt that Peter wanted to see." She raised her eyebrows meaningfully. "Or someone?" She shoved some bread into her mouth while she let that sink in.

Therinfal Redoubt had been a Templar--or Red Templar-- base until the fall of Haven. Samson or Coreypheus had pulled their troops for whatever nefarious activities they had planned. It was still a dangerous place to be avoided. And the Inquisitor wanted to haul them out there?

Peter was shaking.

\--

Peter set down his fork and stared at the table, his head bent low. There was a memory lurking in the corners of his mind. It was so close, if he turned his head to the side, he might catch it. He didn't want to. The edges of the memory burned red-hot, and he was afraid.

"Sampson pulled his men after Haven," the Inquisitor said, cutting another bite of sausage. Peter could barely hear her. "It should be safe--"

"It is NOT safe!" Peter pounded his fists on the table, making the wood groan, and the tableware jump. Erica and Lace jumped too. A few other residents of the crowded tavern cast them worried looks. Peter paid no mind to any of them.

He stared at his fists, fixing on them and hoping, praying that he could keep the memory at bay. Red was creeping in the corners of his vision. The Inquisitor hissed in pain, but Peter could barely hear her.

"Peter?" Lace spoke softly. He looked at her, or at least, where her voice was coming from. He heard the Inquisitor say something, and Lace respond, but he couldn't make out the words for the roaring in his ears.

He felt a hand on his arm, he jerked away from it. This was wrong, he knew the lyrium they were giving him was the wrong color. It was almost purple. Now it was red, and the song. He pushed away from his knight-captain, into another templar. He didn't look so good.

He ran. He didn't have a plan. He usually had a plan. He dodged hands and ran down hallways. He hadn't memorized the hallways of Therinfall, but he thought this was the way to the exit. The song of the red lyrium was buzzing in his ears, making his vision swim.

He tried to body check a templar in his way, but he ended up being way stronger than Peter. Suddenly, he as on the ground, looking into the red eyes of his bunkmate. He growled at Peter and suddenly there were hands all over him, pinning him down. As they poured the wrong lyrium into him, he felt himself changing, echoing the song.

His last thought before the red became all he thought of, was that he was glad he had gotten Barley away in time.

\--

Erica stuck her bleeding thumb in her mouth, to be delt with later. She had jabbed herself with her knife when Peter had hit the table. Lace glanced from the Inquisitor to Peter, who was still staring at his fists, trembling. She tried saying his name again, but Peter didnt react.

"We need to get him somewhere away from all these eyes," Erica muttered around her thumb. Her slightly ridiculous circumstance detracted only slightly from the mild panic in her eyes as they darted around the room. They were drawing too much attention.

"Are you gonna carry him," Lace asked flippantly, "or shall I?"

Just then, Peter propelled himself backwards from the table, knocking Lace over in the process. He landed with a hiss and scrambled to his feet. Erica was over the table and at Peter's side before Lace had gotten to her feet. Erica tried to put her hand on his arm, but he batted her away.

Lace moved closer and Erica got between her and Peter. Lace glared at the Inquisitor. Erica seemed to think that Peter was going to attack, which was idiotic, because he was clearly in flight mode. Made clear by his next move, which was to turn around and break into a dead run.

"Tits!" Erica exclaimed and rushed after him, a second behind Lace. Erica made to overtake her, stupid human legs.

Peter bounced off the wall and fell out the door. Lace and Erica were maybe four seconds behind him, but when they burst through the door, Peter was nowhere to be seen.

"Flaming tits!" Lace growled. Erica grunted in response, scanning the street for clues as to which way he had gone. It was too early for anyone to be out, so no helpful citizens to point which way their friend had gone.

Lace crouched in the dirt, looking for tracks. The muddy street made it easy, he was the only footprints that large and that deep. He had made an immediate right out the door. She followed the tracks for a few feet, where it looked like he slipped and used his hands to keep going.

"I assume you have a trail?" Erica asked, coming up behind Lace. She was tying what looked like a part of her shirt around her thumb. Lace only nodded. "Lead the way, Scout Harding."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im posting these all at once so these cliffhangers arent gonna have any effect on anyone reading


	12. Funny Things Happen In Fissures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mo memories mo problems

For a man in a haze, Peter sure made excellent time. Lace didn't have as much experience tracking men as she did in tracking game; but the added panic of Peter being alone and lost again made Lace's focus razor sharp. Peter made a beeline south and didn't stop for anything. When they got to the edge of the city, Erica grabbed her arm.

"We'll never catch him on foot," she said. "We need horses." Lace snatched her arm away.

"He's not going to stay to the roads," Lace nearly yelled. She threw up her hands in exasperation. "You get a horse, I'm going to stay on his trail."

"Lace, I know you have a connection with Peter," she persisted. "But you can't let your feelings--"

"Can we not talk about this while Peter is in danger?!" Lace snapped, blushing hard.

"He'll be in more danger if we just charge after him without any thought," Erica said in her infuriatingly calm voice.

"I've put plenty of thought into this," Lace told her before turning and running off.

Half an hour later, and Lace was a little smug that she ended up being right about not waiting for horses. Peter's trail lead up into some rocky terrain. Horses wouldn't have been any help. But her mood was dampened by her frustration as she tried to navigate the difficult terrain.

As the stones turned to boulders and the ground continued to tilt, Peter's trail became harder and harder to find. Until she found a smear of blood on a rock face. Fresh, red blood. Frustration turned into cold dread. The blood was about eye level with Lace. It was almost in the shape of a finger print. She guessed he had slipped and grabbed the rock to steady himself. A few feet away from that, she found more blood, on the ground this time.

He was injured, and still running like a horse. Lace pushed the rising panic down and sent a small prayer to the Maker that Peter wouldn't run himself to death. She spared barely a thought for the Inquisitor, who hadn't shown up yet. Erica wasn't bleeding, it was Peter who needed her.

It had been the morning when Peter had taken off, sun was creeping up on high noon when Lace lost the trail entirely. She was in a relatively flat section of ground, all boulders and stubborn grass peeking through stone. Clear line of sight for at least 50ft around.

Breathing heavily and trying not to despair, she swung around, trying to get an idea of what could have happened to Peter. No signs of a fight, either with humans or an animal. She didn't think he could have sprouted wings and flown off. The trail just... Stopped. No blood, no tracks, no anything.

Helplessly, Lace sank to her knees. She could feel tears of frustration welling up in her eyes. She irritably wiped them away, tears wouldn't help anyone. As she sat, and her heart rate settled, she realized the ragged breathing she could hear wasn't, in fact, hers.

Clutching to a sliver of hope, Lace followed her ears towards the broken sobs to a crevice in the ground. It was barely two feet wide, and at first, she didn't see anything. Then something moved, a head. Peter lay wedged in the crack, wheezing and bleeding.

"Peter?" Lace called to him, fighting to keep the shrill note of panic out of her voice. Peter didn't look at her, he didn't move at all. Panic mounted, and then plateaued. She wasn't some Orlesian noble lady, she was Scout Lace Harding, the best damn scout in the Inquisition. Her job was to scout ahead and solve problems. This was just like getting a sheep out of a bramble bush.

"I'm coming, Peter," Lace said, surprising herself with how calm she sounded.

Upon further inspection, Peter was wedged in a fissure that was two feet wide and stretching for maybe a hundred feet in either direction. She had no idea how deep it went, it narrowed out of view below Peter. Lace had no idea how he'd managed to fall in, but Lace could easily squeeze in next to him. And she had to do just that if she had any hope of getting Peter out of there. He weighed three times as much as Lace, she had no chance at moving him without his help.

She moved to where she could shimmy down without stepping on Peter. He was still breathing heavily, but otherwise wasn't moving. He was oddly sprawled out, one arm crammed under his back, one sticking up. Both his legs were wedged further down the fissure. One looked broken, and the arm under him appeared to be bleeding.

Lace perched in front of Peter, bracing herself with her feet on either side of the crevasse. His face was bruised again, worse than when the horse had kicked him. His eyes were blank and bloodshot but his jaw was set, maybe in pain. Gently, Lace reached out a hand to touch him. He didn't react when her fingers brushed his cheek.

Tears began to well up in her eyes again. What if the fall had damaged his head beyond repair. Or maybe the lyrium had finally taken the rest of his mind. She remembered the look in his eyes when he'd told her he wasn't whole, the anguish on his face. Even that pain would have been preferable to the blankness staring at Lace now. She carefully framed his face with her hands as she let the tears fall.

"Peter," Lace wept, "Please, Peter."

She pressed her forehead to his, her completely normal head, completely empty of ideas.

\--

If Peter could have been aware of anything, it would have been the all-encompassing darkness. Where once the tide of red had been, there was simply nothing. Not even Peter.

But something was calling his name. Someone he loved. As it called, Peter became aware of the dark, then of the pain. He could feel his body and his body hurt. It hurt so much that he almost wanted to go back to the dark. But he kept hearing his name. Then there was rain on his face, warm rain.

Peter's eyes registered discomfort and he blinked them a few times. He hadn't been using them, so he hadn't bothered to blink in a while. More warm raindrops hit his face. No, not rain, tears. His tears? No, because there, right in front of his face, was Lace.

Lace! She had been calling his name, he loved when she called his name. It always reminded him who he was, it grounded him. But something was wrong if Lace was crying. He tried to reach for her, to wipe her tears away, but his arm wouldn't move right, and he was reminded that he was in pain and groaned.

Lace gasped and opened her eyes.

"Peter!" She exclaimed.

"Ow," was all Peter could come up with in response.

Lace grabbed him in an awkward and painful embrace, muttering something that was either cursing or praying. Peter groaned again and she released him hurriedly. She sniffed and wiped the tear streaks from her face.

"We need to get you out of this hole," Lace said.

"Why am I in a... A hole?" Peter started but had to clear his throat partway through. His mouth was as dry as his eyes. The last thing he remembered was breakfast with Lace and the Inquisitor.

"You must have fallen in when you were running," Lace said, distractedly, as she examined the hole for footholds.

Suddenly, Peter remembered the Inquisitor mentioning Theirinfall, and having a flashback. The memory didn't hurt as much as it had at the time. He vaguely wondered where the Inquisitor was, but he wasn't too worried about it.

Miraculously, Peter's legs weren't actually broken. Although there was a gash on his left arm and right leg, his bad leg. The leg wound bleeding had already slowed and didn't look too serious. They tried several ways to get Peter out; Pushing, kicking, and pulling. But Peter couldn't get any leverage from his position, and Lace was three times smaller than he was.

"It's okay Peter," Lace said, patting Peter's hand. "I'm not going to leave you."

"Lace..." Peter began, but a third voice cut him off.

"Good thing you guys are making so much noise," the Inquisitor said from out of Peter's view. "I'm not half the tracker Lace is, but I do have ears"

With the Inquisitor's help, and no small amount of effort on his part, Peter was removed from the crevasse. Once out, and Lace was examining the hole one more time, the Inquisitor sat down next to him, looking him in the eyes.

"Where did you go?" She wasn't asking about his cross country run.

"I remember," Peter said, but faltered a little. He didn't remember all of it, but he couldn't be any more specific than that at the moment. The Inquisitor seemed to understand, and stood to walk over and check on Lace.

Peter lay down right where he was. He stared at the clear blue sky. A bird flew in an out of his vision. He hurt less, but he felt exhausted, like he'd been trying to run down a ram. He could hear the Inquisitor talking, but he didn't much care what she had to say.

"Told you horses would be useless," Lace said.

She sounded triumphant. Peter smiled, and closed his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JUST KISS


	13. What A Templar Is Supposed To Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Lace ask some hard questions

"Barley was-- is a mage," Peter told them. They were camped for the night, far enough away from the road, as to not make themselves a target for bandits. The going had been slow, with Peter exhausted and injured, but Erica was pretty sure they were getting close to Theirinfall.

"Did you meet in the circle?" Erica asked. Peter shook his head.

"We tried... We tried to hide her," Peter swallowed hard. Talking was never going to be easy for him, but right then, it seemed a monumental effort. "But they found her, and I... Joined the Templars to." He cleared his throat. "To keep her safe."

"Well seeing as that's what Templars are supposed to do..." Erica said, sardonically.

"Do you remember where she is?" Lace asked. Peter frowned.

"I... Will," he said, uncertainly.

"You'll remember when we get closer?" Erica prompted. Peter nodded, and then shook his head. Erica looked like she would have liked to roll her eyes, or give an exasperated sigh. She restrained herself, perhaps feeling Lace's gaze.

"I hope she's okay," Lace said, switching her gaze from the Inquisitor, back to Peter.

"Do you remember anything about her?" Erica pressed. "Her real name? Who she was--is? Girlfriend... Or wife maybe?"

A crack formed in Lace's world. How had she never thought about that? He'd been looking for this girl with the single-mindedness of a man possessed. Just like Lace had followed Peter that morning. What else did that other than love?

Her vision tunneled until all she could see was Peter. Beautiful, fractured, Peter. Who pushed over horses to protect her, and sought her out when he was hurt. Peter's eyes were a thousand miles away, thinking hard on the Inquisitor's question. That was answer enough for Lace.

"I don't..." Peter trailed off and when he didn't continue, Erica spoke.

"Doesn't matter." The Inquisitor sounded very far away to Lace's ears. "I'm sure she'll be happy to see you." Lace mumbled something in agreement. She didn't look at either of them.

Erica took the first watch, having run the least out of all of them. As Peter and Lace prepared for bed, Lace chastised herself for being so hurt. Peter was her friend before he was anything else. He needed her help to find Barley. She still wanted to help Peter, of course. She just hadn't thought helping him find Barley would mean losing Peter. Would he still stay with her when they found Barley? Would he even want to?

The more Lace thought about it, the more she realized only reason she was even here was because she was the one who had found Peter. This whole thing didn't actually have anything to do with her.

And that was what really hurt most of all.

\--

Peter's head was so full he felt like it would burst. Events of the past were bleeding into events of the present. He wanted to ask Lace what was wrong, but she was asleep on the other side of the fire. She hadn't looked at him since they'd bedded down. Maybe she was getting tired of chasing him down.

A confusing mix of emotions boiled in him as he stared at Lace's back. He wondered for the first time who Barley actually was. He knew she was important to him. He was pretty sure they grew up together. But beyond that, all he knew is that he was responsible for her safety.

Strangely, with his goal so close, his thoughts were mostly of Lace. She had pulled him back from the recesses of his mind. That was the first time since he'd woken from the Red. That first time had been for a nebulous idea; find Her, find Barley. This time it was Lace. It would always be Lace. She had helped him every step of the way. She was everything beautiful in his world.

Peter was not beautiful. He was broken. All he was good for was to find Barley, and make sure she was safe. The thought didn't make Peter feel as fulfilled as it once had.

He finally looked away from Lace, his eyes fell on the Inquisitor, and was surprised to find her staring at him, chin in hands. He realized he didn't look at her very often. He actually didn't pay much attention to anyone who wasn't Lace. The Inquisitor had green eyes. They matched the mark on her hand. He wondered which had happened first.

"I can never get a read on you, big man," she told him quietly. Her face was contemplative, rather than accusatory. Peter was unsure what she expected him to say, so he said nothing, just stared back at her. After several long minutes, the Inquisitor sighed and shook her head.

"Get some sleep," she said, breaking eye contact. She grabbed a stick and poked at the fire. "You've got an important day ahead of you."

Embers fell and sparks flew. Peter didn't reply, he just turned his back and lay down on his bedroll. He sent a silent prayer to the maker, not to let him dream, for he found no comfort there. His dreams were full of red eyes and redder crystals. They whispered and sang as Peter looked for a woman. Sometimes she had long hair, sometimes she had a bow and arrow. Every time they were both out of reach. The Red still sang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> angst! i hate angst


	14. Chapter 14

The going was slow, to put it mildly. Peter had to lean on the Inquisitor because of his bad leg, leaving Lace to scout ahead. The proximity forced Peter to notice more things about the Inquisitor than he had yesterday. She had freckles, like Lace but darker. She was struggling to support Peter's weight too, although she didn't say so aloud. The grit of her teeth and lack of conversation told him how heavy he was. He tried his best to keep his weight off her, but he kept getting distracted by Lace up ahead of them.

Lace hadn't said more than three words to him since they set out. Him running off and falling down the hole must have been the last straw. Perhaps compounding with whatever he had done to scare her in Anturie. His heart sank. He never wanted to scare her, he thought he had done a good job. Obviously not.

His melancholy was interrupted when he reached out to steady himself on a branch. As soon as his hand touched the treebark, he was assaulted by a memory so strong he nearly fell over.

Midnight, on a moonless night. Best time for an escape. He held Barley's hand and moved a branch out of her way. He looked behind for pursuers. He heard nothing, but that didn't mean that no one was there. They were almost to--

Peter hit the ground on one knee, the world in a blur. The Inquisitor was shouting, but he couldn't hear her. Then Lace was there, and the present snapped back into focus.

"Peter, where did you go?" She asked, her eyes full of worry. Peter wanted to lie, he wanted to tell her he tripped and nothing was wrong. Instead, he stood up.

"This... Its the right way," Peter said, Lace's eyes widened, then her expression turned into something more neutral.

"There's nothing out here," the Inquisitor said from under Peter's arm. Peter remembered she was there and eased his weight off her a little.

"Which way?" Was all Lace said. Peter pointed.

Several minutes passed in strained silence. Peter, unsure he wanted to remember any more; The Inquisitor focusing on where she put her feet. As he watched her avoid a badger hole, he had another memory attack.

Barley was slowing down. She didn't say anything, but he could tell she was getting tired. They had been moving all day, staying ahead of their pursuers. He helped her avoid a badger hole, and patted her hand; silently telling her to hang in there. It would all be over soon. He turned towards--

The Inquisitor was talking at him in clipped tones, and he realized how much he was leaning on her. He straightened too quickly and stumbled into a tree. The Inquisitor nearly fell over at the shift in weight. She shot him a look that would have been a glare if it hadn't looked so worried. She sighed and sat on a rock across from Peter leaning on the tree he's fallen on.

"I can't tell if you're losing it," She commented, cracking her neck. "Or gaining it." She finished, cracking her knuckles and back. She was sweating, but Peter was distracted by a lack of Lace.

"Where..." Peter began but stopped when he saw the Inquisitor purse her lips.

"Scout Harding is scouting ahead," she said, rolling her eyes. Peter wasn't sure why a pun about Lace's name made her more exasperated than Peter nearly crushing her into the ground. Lace herself appeared before he devoted too much thought to it.

"There's a cottage ahead," she reported. The Inquisitor barked a laugh.

"Reports of this place's emptiness have apparently been greatly exaggerated," the Inquisitor said.

"The garden is large enough to support a household. There's a small shed, big enough for maybe a goat, a chicken coop," Lace continued, eyes never leaving the Inquisitor. "A trip into town every few months, this could be entirely self-sustainable."

The Inquisitor cast an impressed look Peter's way.

"Minimizing outside contact," she nodded. "Nicely done, Peter.

He felt no pride in her approval. He didn't remember making this plan. He didn't deserve the credit anymore. And Lace still wouldn't look at him directly. He tore his eyes away from Lace and nodded at the Inquisitor.

"Come," he said, pushing off of the tree he was leaning on. She stood put his arm around her shoulders. It was almost over.

\--

Lace hated her treacherous heart. It wasn't even complicated, it was really simple; He wasn't hers to keep. Peter belonged to Barley long before Lace had found him, and he would belong to Barely long after Lace went back to work. She just let herself gradually slip until she would hurt the most by the completion of his quest.

It was worse because he looked so wounded, so hurt by her distance. It didn't matter though, in a few minutes, he'd be back with Barley, and Erica and Lace would go home. He would forget all about her. For a brief, indulgent moment, she wondered what Barley would make Peter think of his scars. And if it would be how Lace made him feel.

Suddenly, Lace found herself in the front garden of the cottage. That sunny little green door filled her with more dread than any assignment she had ever had in the past. She would rather face the god dragon again, rather than take a step forward.

"Something wrong?" Erica asked. She and Peter had snuck up on her while she had been staring down the door. She almost said 'yes this is a trap lets run away and never come back'.

"Its nothing," is what actually came out of her mouth. "Its very pretty," she added.

"Must be--" the Inquisitor started but cut herself off. With more grace than Lace thought possible Whole holding Peter up, Erica spun around, drawing a dagger. Peter spun part of the way with her, before he stumbled. Instinctively, Lace stepped forward to steady him.

Behind them, a woman long brown hair and familiar brown eyes stared at them. She had a basket on her arm and a shaul around her shoulders. Her eyes flashed from Peter, to the knife, to the Inquisitor. Her expression turned from startled, to angry.

"Get away from him!" Barley yelled as she made a gesture towards Erica, who went flying backwards. Erica and the Barley's basket hit the ground at the same time. Barley turned her fierce gaze to Lace.

It was just like the afternoon with the Templar charger. Lace didnt have time to react, just watched as the mage raised her hands, electricity crackling between her fingers. And then Peter was grabbing her. But instead of pushing her to the ground, he wrapped his arms around her and curled around her protectivly.

He jerked violently, but didn't let go. Lace heard Barley shout in dismay, or maybe that was her. Peter's grip loosened, and he fell over with a thud.

"Peter!" Both women cried.

Barley fell to her knees beside Peter, Lace was already there. He had been rigid as he fell, but he was relaxed now, and very unconscious. Lace glared at the woman they had trapsed across half of Thedas for. She was younger than Lace thought she would be.

"What spell was that?" she demanded. Barley glared right back.

"A simple shock spell," she said. "And I was aiming at you."

"I'm not even armed!" Lace argued, which was true. She had left all her things at the inn, but then Peter had run off and well...

"I'm fine by the way," Erica said from behind Barley's back. She whirrled around to face the Inquisitor. Erica smiled, even though there was blood on her teeth.

"Who are you people," Barley asked, looking from Lace to Erica. "And why are you with Peter?"

"He's been trying to find you," Lace said. She was still mad that Barley had shot first, and asked questions later. But this was still about Peter.

"Find me?" Barley frowned. "Hes the one who put me here in the first place."

"Yeah, its been a difficult year for everyone," Erica said. "Actually, I'm kind of surprised you recognized him after..." Erica trailed off in embarrassment.

"After the what happened," Lace finished for her.

Barley smiled a sad little smile and cupped Peter's face in her hand. Lace tried not to bristle.

"Oh, you know," she said. "No matter how big he gets, you always recognize your big brother."

"What?" Erica and Lace said in unison.


	15. Meet Barley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The quest is complete... or is it?

When Peter came to, an experience he kept repeating, he was inside a one-room house, kitchen and bedroom all in one. He was on the overstuffed bed. There were purple flowers on the windowsill, and a basket of apples on the table across the room. Lace sat at the table, feet dangling off the ground. She looked uncomfortable, but she was peeling apples anyway.

And then he saw Barley, and he froze. She was alive, she was safe. She was currently rolling out dough for a pie. Just the way mother had taught her.

"Peter!" Lace exclaimed when she saw him looking around. She put down the apple she held, and hopped off her seat.

"Lace," he tried to get out of bed, forgot his bad leg, and stumbled.

"Hey Petey," Barley said, helping him to his feet. "Miss Lace said you took a nasty fall, you need to relax for a little bit."

"Barley," Peter croaked. She was alive. She wasn't corrupted by red lyrium or demons or anything. She was making pie.

"Hi," she smiled up at him. Peter took her face in both his hands. She felt real, this felt like the present. But so had all the other memory attacks. He whipped his head around to look at Lace. The was staring at him, but quickly looked away when he caught her.

"Lace," Peter reached out to her. She glanced sidelong at him. She hesitantly took his hand. He smiled as wide as his face would allow. Barley was real. Lace was real, and she let him touch her. Maybe she wasn't scared of him anymore.

Lace grinned back at him. He hadn't thought he could be happier, but that smile made his heart race.

"I fixed the door on the shed," The Inquisitor called as she came through the door, then she saw all of them standing in the middle of the room. "Good afternoon, Peter. Nice of you to rejoin the conscious world."

"You didn't wash up," Barley chastised the Inquisitor. "Run down to the well and then come back."

..

Peter sat on the bed, reluctantly. Barley didn't have many visitors so she didn't have many chairs. Lace sat on the chair at the table, while the Inquisitor sat on the floor trying to fix an old stool Barley had given up for firewood. It didn't look like she was having much luck.

Once the pie was cooling on the window sill, and the ladies sitting drinking Barley's homebrew ale, Barley looked Peter in the eye.

"So," she began. "Erica and Lace told me a little about what happened," she said carefully.

"Is your name really Barley?" Lace blurted out. Erica laughed, and Barley grinned at Peter.

"No," she said. "My name is Harley. Peter would call me that when he was being annoying."

"So he's your older brother." The Inquisitor said with absolute certainty.

"You must have older brothers," Barley laughed. "Yeah, I'm Peter's baby sister."

Peter had so many thoughts in his mind. Seeing Barley had answered a few of his questions, and some he didn't know he had. But it also opened an entire ocean of brand new questions. Some Barley wouldnt even know. His mind fought him but eventually he put together three words.

"Who... Are... We?" Peter asked, painstakingly choosing every word. "What happened?" Barley's face crumpled a little bit.

"We are Harley and Peter Gullian," she said, hands busying themselves with the hem of her apron. "Momma was the daughter of a laundress and a laborer. She married quite young, and had you shortly after. But then he ran off with the Qunari, leaving Momma to raise you on her own. Thats when she met my father..."

Peter hadn't expected that, he was studiously trying to stay in the present, as her words brought a torrent of memories to him. Old, fuzzy memories, of a large man's hands, and being carried on someone's shoulders. And darker ones, of tears and long nights.

"Momma wouldn't talk about the bastard," Barley said.

"Hey!" Peter interjected automatically. The Inquisitor laughed. Barley smiled.

"Momma and Peter never liked when I use that word," she told Lace. "Because that's what momma's father called me." Lace nodded, smiling shyly.

"Anyway, I never met the man." Barley shot a sly look at Peter. "You did though."

"Huh?" Peter frowned.

"You were fully 10 when he left," Barley explained. "You never told me anything, even when I..." She trailed off, staring at her hands. They glowed with a soft yellow light.

Peter had a flash of a dark haired man with cruel eyes. The memory hurt like a blow to the head, and Peter dropped his head to his hands. There it stayed as he rode out the memory. When he became aware of himself again, he could feel Lace's small hand on his back. He gripped the sensation, like a drowning man grasps a life line.

"Mama got sick, and didn't get better. After mama died, the Templars came." Peter vaguely heard Barley continue. "The Knight-Commander understood wanting to stay to take care of mama."

Peter looked back up at her, she had been looking at the Inquisitor, but her eyes moved back to him. She smiled a sad smile, and Peter saw his mother in her gaze.

"You would have fought them all," Barley said. "You talked your way out of every fight you'd ever gotten yourself into. But you would have fought six armed men to keep me."

"It would have... It would have put you in danger... I wasn't.... I wasn't strong enough," Peter forced himself to say before he had to stop and close his eyes again.

"I think that's enough questions for now," the Inquisitor said somewhere to Peter's left.

"I'm sorry," he heard Barley saying. "I didn't mean to hurt him."

"N...no," Peter choked out. He felt Lace's other hand on his head, in an attempt to sooth him.

"Its okay Peter," Lace said. "Tomorrow is another day."

They didn't have time. The crystals in his blood were growing again. But he couldn't make the confession leave his mouth. Sleep took him over and that was all he knew.

\--

Barley moved Peter to the bed, using magic. Just as well, Lace had no idea how they would have moved Peter otherwise.

"There's extra blankets in the shed," Barley said. "And probably some hay leftover from the harvest."

"We brought supplies," Erica told her. "I'm good in the shed, although I'm a little afraid of the goat."

"Black Meg won't hurt you," Barley laughed. "She may try to eat your shoes though, so watch out."

"Great," Erica muttered. "Lace?" The Inquisitor caught Lace's attention. Ever the master of subtext, Erica was asking Lace where she wanted to sleep tonight.

"I..." Lace blushed. She didn't want to leave Peter, but she didn't want to say that she didn't want to leave Peter in front of his sister, Erica, and the Maker himself.

"If I can borrow Peter's sleeping roll, we can both sleep on the floor in here," Barley offered, kindly. Lace managed to blush harder, but nodded.

They prepared for bed in silence so thick, you could have used it as a club. Lace almost wished it was a club, so she could put herself out of her misery. Barley lit the fire with a flick of her wrist, and Lace did her level best not to startle. She was younger than Lace had expected, Barley couldnt be in her 20s yet. She also seemed remarkably calm, what with all they had told her about what happened to Peter.

Barley caught her staring and Lace quickly looked away and climbed into her bedroll. She laid there, and listened to Barley lie down and get comfortable. Minutes passed like hours and Lace almost wished she was in the shed with the Inquisitor, when Peter whimpered quietly. She sat up and looked over to him. He sighed and seemed to relax, so Lace started to settle again.

"So are you two dating or..." Barley asked so unexpectedly that Lace jumped in surprise.

"N-no," she stuttered. "Just friends."

"You said you were the one who found him. After the Templars," Barley propped herself up on her elbow. "How was he?" She asked, tracing abstract patterns on the wooden floor. It was a casual gesture, but in it was innate anxiety over her brother. Lace considered lying, but only for a fraction of a second.

"Not good," she said. As Lace described how she had found Peter, and what he had gone through to remove the Lyrium, Barley kept a neutral expression. She posed the occasion question, but mostly her eyes just bored into Lace's

"Looks like we owe dwarven kind a debt," Barley said when Lace was finished. "I worried, you know. When he didn't come back." Barley said. "But then, he said he would be gone a while. He said he needed to lead the Templars away from me."

Barley stretched her neck and flicked a finger towards the fire, and it flared to new life. She stared at it and Lace was reminded of the night Peter had split his lip. Their eyes reflected the firelight the same way, the resemblance was uncanny.

"Peter doesn't blame you," Lace blurted out. It just seemed like the next logical leap for Barley to make. If he hadn't gone back to the Templars, none of this would have happened. Personally, Lace thought that was stupid, like anyone could stop Peter from doing something heroic.

"But I do," Barley replied, eyes still on the fire. She looked so sad, Lace's heart went out to her.

Lace didn't know what to say. She liked Peter just the way he was. He was the kind of person who put himself in harms way to protect people. He barley knew who he was, but he put himself through painful recollections in order to protect the sister he barely remembered. Peter might not be who he had been before, but that didn't mean he wasn't still a wonderful kind man. Lace had so many thoughts and feelings about Peter, that they all piled up behind her tongue.

"Peter pushed over a horse to protect me," Lace blurted out. Barley turned her head to look at her, confused smile on her face.

"I just mean, he's still protecting people," Lace stammered. "From what you've told me, I don't think he's all that different." She ran a finger along the scar on her cheek absently. "Maybe a little battered, but I don't think he's broken."

Barley was quiet for a long time, then she smiled a soft smile and laid back down on her bedroll.

"I can see why he'd step in front of a charging horse for you." She said.

"It wasn't exactly charging," Lace mumbled, blushing.

"Whatever," Barley yawned, agreeably.

\--

Peter listened to the girls talk. He didnt mean to evesvesdrop, but he really didn't know how to tell them he was awake. And then Lace told Barley that she didn't think Peter was broken, and Peter's heart was too full to get any words out anyway.

He loved them both so much. He thought about his open wounds, and hoped he wouldn't have to give them up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> almost done guys


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We learn more about our new favorite mage

Peter lay with his head in Barley's lap, trying not to feel the Red inside him. Barley had one hand in his hair, and the other playing with her braid; occasionally tickling his nose with the end. Despite the pain, it was the most peace Peter had felt in months. As they lounged, Barley told him about the three years she spent in the circle.

"I joined the Templars to find you," Peter told her. "But then I couldn't find you."

"We aren't supposed to have families outside the circle," Barley said.

"How long... Were you alone?" Peter asked. His chest hurt, he told himself it was emotion, and not the Lyrium.

"You mean long did it take you to find me?" Barley smiled. "You showed up at my circle three years after I was taken, and I wasn't alone."

Barley went on to tell him stories about the many teachers she had had. She had moved circles twice since she was taken. The first time for crowding, the second time because of a demon. He liked to hear her talk, and when she played with his hair he could almost forget the pressure in his veins.

"Of course I wanted to learn healing magic," Barley said. "But that's a very difficult brand of magic, adepts are usually born with a talent or devote years into the study."

Peter snorted derogatorily. She smiled at that.

"Yeah, I didn't have the patience for years of study," she agreed. "And apparently I'm rather adept at green magic."

Peter made a noise that requested clarification.

"Plants and shit," she waved her hand. Peter narrowed his eyes at her swear word, to which she only laughed. "I'm not a child anymore, Peter, I'm allowed to curse."

Peter raised a cynical eyebrow. Barley laughed again.

"Anyway, there was this cute elf girl who taught me whatever her Keeper had imparted on her before she was kidnapped by the Templars," Barley said quickly, trying to breeze past several things. Peter stopped her with his hand on her's. She met his eyes reluctantly, and when she saw his determination, she relented.

"Asharen," Barley sighed. "Ash. She was my bunkmate when I first arrived at the circle. My first friend."

"Friends?" Peter probed, raising one eyebrow.

"At first," Barley poked his nose, reproachfully. "Let me tell the story in order."

Peter rolled his eyes, but waited patiently for Barley to continue.

"She was taken from her clan when they got too close to a human village," Barley glared at imaginary humans somewhere in the middle distance. "She was going to be Keeper one day, and now..." Barley swallowed hard.

Peter clasped her hand again. She blinked back tears and smiled faintly at him.

"We were thick as thieves. We figured out how to make the garden attack people. Not enough to hurt anyone, just enough to be annoying," she smiled a wicked smile. "The mint plants were ferocious."

Peter remembered the mint they had had in their garden back home. Mint needed very little encouragement to conquer. His chest rumbled in a laugh that made him roll on his side until the giggles subsided. It hurt, but it was worth it. Barley laughed with him, it was the happiest he had been in a long time.

"After a time," Barley continued when the laughter subsided. "We grew closer than friends."

A breeze blew past and ruffled Peter's hair. Barley brushed it out of his eyes. Peter saw how hard it was for her to put words to such a recent hurt. He could relate, and waited patiently.

"I don't know if I loved her, Peter," she said eventually. "We just didn't have the time." There were tears in her eyes. "One day she just didn't show up to classes. When I went looking for her, I found her with the tranquil--" her voice choked on a sob.

The circle was supposed to protect mages from their magic. It was their home, everyone deserves to feel safe in their home. Instead, they were abused and taken advantage of. Not by demons, but by regular people.

Peter sat up and pulled his baby sister into a hug. He held Barley as she cried over a friend she never got to mourn. Peter had a faint memory of consoling Barley before, but the recollection was snatched away as he imagined he could feel the Red growing out of his chest. For a horrible moment, he imagined it springing forth and impaling--

Peter pushed Barley away scrambled backwards as his hands frantically felt at his chest. Barley cried out in alarm, bringing Peter out of his panic. No Red. No spikes.

"I'm... Sorry," Peter stuttered, looking at the startled and hurt look on her face. He didn't have the words to explain to her what was happening. He needed Lace.

Lace was in the house a hundred yards away... Or not, because she was currently running towards him, the Inquisitor hot on her heels.

"Peter," Lace called his name as she nearly ran into him. "We heard shouting, are you okay?"

"She heard shouting," The Inquisitor said, drawing level with Barley, who still had tears in her eyes. "I was fixing the table."

Peter tore at the front of his shirt, trying to get at the crystals growing there. Lace gasped when his chest was revealed at the bleeding spikes digging out of his chest. Peter tried to stand but was struck with pain so great he gasped and fell forward. Lace half caught him, supporting his weight and keeping him from falling onto his face. He barely felt the rocks digging into his knees as his blood revolted in his veins.

He heard the scared voice of his sister, and the tight voice of the Inquisitor. His eyes couldn't see past the pain and their voices sounded far away. He thought he must pass out, grant him respite from the pain. But the pain persisted, as did his consciousness. He felt himself going into that unresponsive place deep inside himself.

Scout Lace Harding suddenly filled his vision. She was speaking sternly to him. He couldn't hear her, but he grasped at her like a lifeline. Gradually, Peter became aware of several things. Lace's hold on his arms, the smell of dishwater and that smell specific to her, the color of her eyes, and her hair and all the tiny freckles on her face, the scar on her cheek.

The rest of the world came back and Peter gasped. Barley was crying and the Inquisitor was holding her, face grim. He looked down at Lace, still grasping his forearms. The pain was still there, and if he cut his eyes to the left or right, he would swear he saw crystals. But he was in control.

For now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am literally just howling into the void here. is anyone listening?


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lace and Barley go to find help for Peter

"We _have_ to get back to Skyhold, like, yesterday," Erica said, patting Barley on the back absently.

"What's wrong with his ch--" Barley hiccupped, but the Inquisitor gently shushed her.

"It'll be fine," she lied. "Dagna removed them once, she can do it again."

Lace could feel Peter's racing pulse where she grasped his arms. He radiated heat, like he was running a high fever. The red lyrium in his chest gave off an evil sort of glow as blood trickled down Peter's abdomen. For a second there, it looked like he was losing himself like when he ran off before. Lace was not standing for that and had told him so. He didn't look better, but he did look lucid.

"Where is the nearest Inquisition camp?" Lace asked. Erica grimaced.

"I don't..." She trailed off. Lace had never seen her look at a loss before, but now she looked absolutely helpless.

"I'm not even sure where we are." Erica ran her fingers through her hair. "There's a lot of Ferelden, and all I know is that we are somewhere south of Denerim."

"Durnel is about a two hour walk north," Barley chimed in, brushing tears off her face. Erica's face lit up.

"Yes! We need to get there."

"I... Can't walk that far," Peter gritted through his teeth, his face tight. It didn’t escape her notice that he had bandaged the crystals up. They had been growing out of him for a while now. Damn him! She should have noticed something was up. But she had been too damn stupid with her feelings for him that she hadn't been paying attention.

There wasn’t time to be man-- either at Peter or herself-- Peter might be dying and they needed to get him back to Skyhold.

"Wait, Durnel?" Lace asked in surprise. "We don’t need to go that far, if we're south of Durnel, we're about an hour from  Riverhold."

"Riverhold?" Barley said uncertainly. "That place is hardly bigger than a farmstead."

"It has an Inquisition rookery," Lace replied. " _That's_ where we can find help."

Peter shut his eyes and moaned in pain. Lace felt his weight pressing on her harder. She looked up at him, his face inches from hers and scrunched up in agony. Her heart hurt to see him like this. She felt near panic at not being able to help him.

Erica stepped up and slung Peter's arm around her shoulders.

"Lace, you run to Riverhold and send word to Leliana _._ " Erica told her. "You can come back with horses and--"

"I'll go with you," Barley said suddenly. Everyone stared at her. She blushed, but pushed on. "I know the land, we'll be faster if I go with her."

"Barley…" Peter protested weakly. "Not… not safe."

"It's time I do something to protect you, Peter." Barley's eyes were filled with determination. Lace saw the same fire in her eyes that Peter had had on his dogged pursuit of her. There would be no talking her out of it.

"Let's go," Lace said.

Erica looked a little unsure, but nodded.

"Andraste guide you," she said as she hauled Peter towards the house.

Lace and Peter locked eyes for the briefest of moments before Lace turned and took off with Barley. There wasn't a moment to waste.

\--

An hour's walk as the crow flies, turned out to be more like 40 minutes as the dwarf runs. Barley was _fast_ , and it wasn’t just her long human legs. Lace's lungs burned and her legs protested every step but desperation made her stronger and she continued at a dead run for way longer than she should have.

They stopped only once for water before they hit a real road. It wasn’t the main highway, but it meant civilization was within their grasp. It wasn't until they saw rooftops that they heard the fighting.

Lace stopped Barley before they could crest the final hill. Barley began to protest but Lace silenced her with her hand. The sound of metal on metal and a frighteningly familiar roar came from further into the cluster of buildings that made up Riverhold. That was a roar you didn't forget.

"What was that?" Barley asked, eyes wide with terror.

"That was a Behemoth," Lace said, grimly.

"What does that mean?" Barley frowned.

"It means that the Red Templars are attacking Riverhold."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up we have a fight scene


	18. The Trouble With Behemoths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the girls get into a fight!

Lace and Barley ran down the street as quietly as their rapidly beating hearts would let them. Riverhold was barely a hamlet. It didn't even have a chantry, but it did have a tall building, perfect for a Rookery. That’s why Leliana had chosen it. Lace didn't know what kind of Inquisition forces were stationed here, but it wasn’t enough to deal with a Behemoth.

"What's your plan" Barley hissed behind her.

"Uh," Lace replied.

"What's a Behemoth anyway?" Barley asked but Lace shoved her into a doorway as she began to feel the ground shake.

Lace put a finger to her lips and motioned Barley through the door. Lace led them through a house, over a fence through another house; eventually moving into what seemed to be a small cobbler's store until they could look out a window on the scene before them. There was a small fountain in the middle of a small town square, and a little to the left was the rookery.

There stood the Behemoth, towering over the little houses. Barley gasped and her eyes widened. Lace took in the rest of the square. There were several bodies in the street. Some in Inquisition heraldry, some in Red Templar gear, and far too many in simple clothes. There were at least six Red Templars advancing on the rookery where the Inquisition soldiers had retreated. There were three of them and none of them looked good.

"If only I had a bow," Lace growled. She needed to do something. Even if the Inquisition soldiers could get into the rookery and barricade the door, the Behemoth would just bring the building down on their heads. Besides the lives of those men, they needed that rookery to get help for Peter.

Lace was distracted from the gruesome scene in front of her by the sound of wood cracking beside her. She turned to see Barley, with a look of total concentration on her face as she grew a small tree out of the floor. A glowing sprout was stretching towards Barley's fingers. Lace watched as Barley grabbed a shoe string from nearby and strung it on the small bow she had created. Sweat beaded on her brow as she handed the weapon to Lace triumphantly. Lace took the bow with reverence.

Barley clapped her hands together, and when she pulled them apart, there was a ray of light that looked vaguely like an arrow in-between her hands. Barley looked at Lace over the light arrow.

"I'll make the arrows," she said. "You take the bastards down."

In spite of it all, Lace managed a smile.

"Stay close," she said. "This is gonna be close." Then she paused, an idea forming that looked suspiciously like a plan. "How big of those can you make?

\--

Lace and Barley burst out of the door of the cobblers shop, startling the Red Templars and the Inquisition soldiers alike. But Lace was already firing two light arrows into the helmets of two Red Templars. One got his shield up in time, but the other went down. One down.

The Behemoth roared and swung its big arm down at them. They leapt out of the way and Barley handed her two more arrows. Taking advantage of the distraction, an Inquisition soldier stabbed a Red Templar in the back. Lace finished that one off with a shot to the throat.

Lace fired again and hit a knee joint. Barley shouted a warning and they both dove to the ground to avoid the Behemoth's arm again. It overshot, and ended up getting wedged in the ground. Lace saw their opportunity.

"Now!" She shouted at Barley who was already summoning all her power between her hands. Out of the corner of her eye, Lace saw an Inquisition soldier go down and gritted her teeth. The Behemoth tugged at its arm, it wouldn’t be stuck for very long.

"Barley…" Lace urged as Barley's hands stretched farther and farther apart and the light between them grew. Lace got into position in front of her and pulled the empty bow string taught.

"Barley!" Lace yelled. Barley swiftly covered Lace's hands with her own and Lace shot the now enormous light arrow right in the center of the Behemoth's chest. There was an explosion of red crystals and the terrible howl of the creature as it fell with a thunderous crash.

Lace whirled around to see the last two Red Templars staring at the felled titan. Out of arrows, Lace just charged at them, dodging around them as she grabbed the sword off one of the fallen Inquisition soldiers. Together they dispatched the Red Templars in short order.

"Are you alright?" Lace asked, and then felt a little silly. How did she think they were. Barley came up beside her stumbling a bit. She was shaking, either from the adrenaline of battle or the use of magic, Lace didn't know. She let Barley lean on her and the young woman smiled appreciatively.

"Maker's left nut!" One of them exclaimed pushing his helmet off. "Where did you learn that?!" he asked with a grin.

"Shut up, Caleb," The other said. He bent down to help the soldier she had seen go down to her feet.

"Thank you," the soldier said as she looked from Lace to Barley. "Both of you. I thought we were dead for sure."

"You did great," Lace said. "We need to get a message to Skyhold, there isn't much time." The Inquisition soldiers looked grim.

"Leena was our crowmaster," Reg said, face somber now. "She's dead."

"I know how to send the message," Lace reassured them. "Is there a horse my friend can borrow? The Inquisitor is--"

"The Inquisitor?!" All three soldiers exclaimed at once.

"She's here?!" The woman asked.

"No we need to get her and my brother," Barley interrupted. "He's sick and we need to get him to Skyhold."

"She can explain everything once she gets here," Lace promised them.


	19. Archavist's Log Supplemental

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the smallest chapter. tiny

Archanist Dagna, project log; R supplemental

The crystals that originally grew from the subject's chest, have regrown. They are several centimeters long, but growing at a slower rate than before. So far, the growths in his face and spine are dormant, though that may change.

If he had come back a week ago, hell a few days ago, I could have stopped the growth and saved him some pain. If he had stayed away any longer, it might have killed him.

The subject is remarkably lucid, and the removal has gone very well. He's gonna have to get used to constant pain and regular visits to me. But he's alive, and I understand that his memory has largely returned.

This has been an enlightening project. :)


	20. Back At Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it all comes together

Peter examined himself in the mirror and couldn't help but feel a certain sense of deja vu. Ironic, having restored most of his memories, now he was haunted by the ghosts of the recent past. His chest still looked like chewed leather, but the sharp pain in his bones and blood was now a dull ache with the medicine Dagna had made with the Skyhold doctors.

"There's my handsome guy." Barley stood in the doorway, big grin on her face. She looked good in the mage robes. She had found some familiar faces among the mages in the Inquisition, and it really seemed like she had found her people. Peter smiled.

He had done it. He'd saved her. It took a few tries, but he had finally saved his baby sister. He hoped his mother could see him from her place at the Maker's side. He hoped she was smiling.

"Come, its lunchtime, and I want to tell you about what I did today." Barley walked over and tugged on his arm. He leaned on her a little as they made their way down to the great hall.

It was always loud and full of people who always seemed to have a whisper and a sideways glace for him. But with Barley excitedly chattering away he didn't notice the eyes as much. It didn't stop him from craning his neck around the room.

Peter hadn't seen Lace in days. He knew she was still in Skyhold. At least, he was pretty sure she was still in Skyhold. He liked to think she would at least say goodbye if she left. Whatever happened in Riverhold with Barley had upset a great many people, and Lace had been very busy. She had visited him in recovery, but he hadn't been able to say much.

He didn't see her in the great hall, and the look Barley was giving him made him duck his head in embarrassment.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly. "I... Wasn't, uh, listening."

"Have you seen Scout Harding lately?" Barley asked, looking a bit like the cat who ate the canary. Peter tried and failed to stifle a sigh. Barley laughed at his discomfort as she led him to a table. Peter sat and watched Barley scoot her way through the crowd.

"Blood aching, eyes darting. She would have said goodbye wouldn't she? The color of her eyes and the curve of her scar and I miss her, but does she miss me?"

Peter turned to see a slight young man, maybe Barley's age, with pale blonde hair falling into his even paler eyes. He was wearing a big floppy had and perched with one of his knees drawn to his chest on the bench next to Peter. He had unmistakably been speaking Peter's thoughts aloud. That should have unsettled him, but Peter had seen some shit. The skinny man lifted his gaze from the middle distance to meet Peter's gaze.

"Papers and papers and more papers. Does it never end? So many people in so many places, hands and fingers in pies. My mind distracted by the thoughts of big hands and big brown eyes. I want to see him, want to know he's okay. Does he still think my scars are beautiful..."

Those were not his thoughts. The echo of his old life hissed 'blood magic', but he shrugged that thought aside.

"She wonders if you miss her too," the young man in the hat told him.

"I found pork chops," Barley said, and Peter turned his head to see her approach with two plates of food. "They can't be as good as mother's though."

Peter looked back at the mysterious person, but the bench was empty.

"Peter?" Barley put the plates down. "Is everything okay?"

"Just... Hungry? I guess," Peter smiled reassuringly up at her and gently tugged at her skirt so she would sit down.

"You would not believe the shi-- the things I've done with elfroot in the last few days..." Barley babbled excitedly about plants and things. Peter tried his best to pay attention. His thoughts were still on what the hat person had said. Could he have been talking about Lace? Or was Peter's preoccupied mind drawing conclusions where there weren't any.

"And then I said to her--" Barley was saying but cut herself off. Peter followed her gaze to whatever made her stop talking.

Lace stood near the main door. She looked like she hadn't gotten much sleep, and there was a smudge of ink on her face. She was looking around the room almost nervously. Peter was halfway across the room before he had made the conscious decision to go to her.

She finally caught sight of him when he was about ten feet away. Her eyes were huge and uncertain, but she held his gaze. Vaguely, Peter wondered if she had had a visit from the blond kid too. But he had other things on his mind. He wanted to tell her how he felt, and to ask her how she felt. But if he tried, his mouth would be too slow and his mind would stutter. So he had to do something else.

Slowly, giving her plenty of time to back away, Peter reached to cup her face in his hands. He sank to one knee to be closer to her height to do so. Then he very deliberately brought his mouth to hers. He kissed her tentatively, hoping to convey with action what he couldn't make his mind say.

Immediately, Lace wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him deeper into the kiss. It got harder to kiss her when he started to grin and Lace started to laugh happily.

The hall around them erupted into applause, startling both of them. It seemed like the entire grand hall was clapping and cheering at them. Lace buried her face in his neck, embarrassed. Peter held her to him and largely ignored the prying eyes all around.

"Way to go, Harding!" A dwarf sitting by the fireplace called. Lace pulled back from Peter to yell something back. Peter barely acknowledged any of them. He kept his eyes on Lace. She was flushed from all the attention, but laughing happily. His face was grinning as much as it could around the scars. He had to tell her, he had to try.

"I... I love," Peter tried, he tried to tell her but his head was loud and his tongue slow.

Lace stopped him with light kiss. She gently touched his cheek, right on his scars.

"I love you too, Peter."

The whole world could have fallen away, it wouldn't have mattered to Peter. Barley was safe, and Lace loved him back. The missing pieces of his life fill in.

They were whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THATS IT. ITS DONE. I HAVE BARED MY SOUL IN 20 SHORT CHAPTERS. SOMEONE COMMENT.

**Author's Note:**

> damn, thats a fruity summary im sorry. ive been writing this for 50 FUCKING YEARS. It is VERY close to my heart, so please leave a comment.


End file.
